


Second Bloom

by cincoflex



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: F/M, Older Not Dead, courtly romance, wait really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Fate keeps nudging Frank towards someone, much to his surprise.





	1. Chapter 1

She was so ready to go home.

Briar RoseClowderbock was tired of her heels, tired of making awkward small talk with the few people here that she knew, and definitely tired of the whole evening. Right now the idea of soaking in a tub of hot water while partaking of something to stop the aching in her wrists was looking better and better.

After one last quick glance around the Four Seasons ballroom, she sighed. Last week the idea of attending the Philharmonic Charity gala and silent auction had seemed so glamorous on paper, but in truth, the crowd made her a little nervous. Too many people, too high up. Ever since that fateful day in September she’d been wary of situations with that combination. Still, she’d put in an appearance so Lainie couldn’t nag her, and there was enough time to get home to Brooklyn before midnight, so Briar Rose picked up her coat and clutch, nodded a general sort of goodbye to the folks around her and moved across the room towards the bank of elevators. 

There were people hobnobbing around the closest gold doors, so she made her way to the farthest car down the line where fewer folks were loitering. As she reached it, Briar Rose realized two things. One was that there was an additional elevator around the corner and out of general view—it looked like a last minute modification to the original design. The other was that a tall and imposing gentleman was standing near it.

He was giving off an aloof air that clearly was keeping anyone from coming close, looking around distantly as he waited for the car. She noted even as she approached that he also had one of the thickest mustaches she’d ever seen. It went well with his heavy brows, which framed an intense gaze that moved to her as she managed a brief smile.

“Headed down?” she asked hopefully.

He hesitated, and then gave a single nod of agreement and tacit permission to join him all in one. Briar Rose nodded back and stood near him, watching the doors. The man next to her didn’t fidget, which was interesting; she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

Tall and broad, like a bear. Short dark hair in a cut that looked to be for efficiency rather than style. The only nod to vanity was that push-broom of a mustache and Briar Rose fought a giggle at the sudden wonder of what it would feel like. She wasn’t the sort to speculate about strangers but honestly this was the first heavy duty facial hair she’d seen in a long time. Shifting a little, she lifted her chin for a better view.

He was in a tux and wore it like a uniform, Briar Rose thought—without much consideration for how it looked on him. That in itself was appealing and she checked his shoes, betting herself they were polished. Bet won, she risked a glance at his hands but he had a coat over his arm so she couldn’t tell if he had any watch or rings.

When she glanced up, his gaze met hers. Briar Rose suddenly realized he _knew_ she was watching him. Heat bloomed across her face and she blinked a little but the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth was a saving grace; he didn’t seem annoyed by her scrutiny.

The soft chime of the elevator’s arrival saved her, and Briar Rose pulled herself together as the doors opened. The man waved her inside and followed behind, the two of them finding comfortable space to stand on the Art Deco patterned carpet underfoot. Around them the polished metal walls let her check her own reflection: still long and lanky, silver-tinged pale hair in a neat, heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. The man reached a big hand out for the buttons and shot her a questioning glance.

“Garage please,” she replied.

He gave a little grunt and pushed the button with the G on it. The doors rolled shut and the elevator began to descend. The trip was short, but in the last few seconds before it reached the bottom, Briar Rose heard a faint, panicked scream. Alarmed, she looked at the man, who went on high alert at the sound. When the car came to a stop, he held out an arm to hold her back; a move that somehow didn’t surprise her.

“Stay put,” the man rumbled in a low order. He had his cell phone out and had it up to his mustache. “Dunstan, ten-twenty, garage. Stand by.”

Another cry, this one softer made them both look out into the cavernous grey cement parking structure. Briar Rose stepped out of her heels, kicking them aside. The man noted it, heavy eyebrows going up in surprise.

“I’m a doctor. I can move faster without them,” she assured the man, who looked as if he was going to say something but yet another cry interrupted them and he turned his gaze towards the left.

This time he surprised _her_ by fishing a gun out from his jacket pocket.

“Over there. I’m going to check it out,” he muttered. “Stay put.”

“No,” Briar Rose countered, alarmed but determined. “If someone’s been hurt I can help.”

The man looked as if he was going to argue but another cry made him nod curtly and she followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. The cement was cold against her nearly bare feet but Briar Rose kept her gaze forward, spotting the crumpled figure leaning against one of the pillars of the parking garage, a streak of blood against it. She darted forward, clicking into professional triage mode in an instant, assessing what she was looking at.

An elderly man with a torn sweater and slashes on his coat. He was leaking blood and she slipped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him down to the cold ground while trying to reassure him.

“H-help me!” the man grunted in panic.

“Yes,” Briar Rose assured him. “Just relax. I’m calling for help now and let’s get some pressure on these slashes. What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?” She focused on tugging up his sweater, noting that while the slashes were long they weren’t particularly deep. Wadding part of his coat she cushioned his head, still speaking in reassuring tones, pressing a hand against the biggest gash along his right ribs.

“D-david Luna,” he replied flinching. “Am I gonna die? I don’t want to die!”

“I don’t want you to die either and I don’t think you will, sir.” Briar Rose looked around for the man but he was gone. Annoyed, she fished her cell phone out and hit 911 as she continued to apply pressure.

Fortunately even here in the bowels of the Four Seasons parking the phone reception was fairly reasonable and before she’d even given the address she could hear a siren in the distance. Briar Rose finished the vital info and set the phone down, checking her patient over again, keeping him conscious, reassuring him and listening to his disoriented statement about a mugger with a switchblade wanting his wallet.

Suddenly the man was back, looking bigger and more menacing somehow as he loomed over her. “Ambulance is nearly here,” he announced, as if Briar Rose hadn’t heard it herself.

“Good,” she muttered. “We need to call the police.”

“They’re aware of the situation,” the man replied dryly. 

Briar Rose wanted to say something cutting but at that point the ambulance roared in and pulled to a stop, taking her attention back to the situation at hand. She handed off David Luna to the paramedics, giving them the few vitals she’d noted, and stood back as they loaded him up. The driver looked at her and then at the man, straightening up as he did so.

Then a police officer came hurrying towards them, snapping off a salute, and Briar Rose watched as he looked at the man with respect.

“We’re securing the scene sir. Witnesses?”

“Check the cameras both here in the garage and in all the elevators,” the man rumbled. “Also any of the traffic ones focused along Barclay and Church.”

“And . . . ?” the officer looked at her. Briar Rose looked down at her bloody hands, aware that her cocktail dress was splattered as well, and that huge runs were up both her stockings. 

The man looked her up and down. “I’ll take her statement, Dunstan.”

“Sir,” the officer looked slightly relieved and saluted again, heading off. 

Briar Rose sighed. “Can I get my shoes?”

*** *** ***

To his credit, he drove her home himself, which was more than Briar Rose was up to doing at two in the morning. Most of the neighborhoods were still dark at this hour, and she hoped Raymond and George were going to forgive her for the delay. Since it was the weekend at least she’d be able to sleep in, which might help a little.

“Thank you,” he murmured in the darkness as the car glided out of the Carey Tunnel on the Brooklyn side. “I appreciate your . . . good deed, Doctor.”

She shot him a sidelong look. “You’re welcome, Commissioner. Although I was a little worried when you took off like that. Especially with a gun.”

He gave a tiny shrug of his big shoulders. Briar Rose closed her eyes, feeling the fatigue wash through her in the aftermath of the adrenaline.

Police Commissioner Frank Reagan, she mused, was every bit the professional she’d heard he was. His questioning about her evening from the moment she’d joined him in the elevator to the departure of the ambulance had been patient and thorough.  
When Briar Rose asked about her car, he assured her it would be returned to her once the garage was no longer a crime scene, and then had arranged to take her home.

She wasn’t sure _how_ she rated this personal escort back to Dyker Heights but at this point in the night Briar Rose didn’t muse on it too long, and yawned before muttering an apology. “Sorry. Not used to hours quite this late.”

The commissioner gave a little affirmative sound and in the dim light of the car his mustache twitched; Briar Rose realized that meant he’d smiled, if briefly.

She gave a soft chuckle. “Will I be able to check on David Luna? See his medical records?”

He shot her a quick glance before turning his gaze back to the road. “Why? Not that I doubt your professionalism, Doctor Clowderbock, but he’s no longer your patient, and certainly not within _your_ specialty.”

“I know, but there was something odd about his attack,” she murmured almost as much to herself as to the man in the car with her. “Something I can’t put my finger on right now because I’m so damned tired but . . .” she shook her head and repeated, “Something.”

For a moment neither of them said anything. Finally the commissioner gave a gusty sigh. “I’ll do what I can.”

When they finally reached 85th Street, Briar Rose stirred herself, gathering her clutch and coat, fumbling for her keys. The Commissioner pulled up to the curb. Before she quite realized it, he’d climbed out, crossed around the front of the car and opened her door for her. Briar Rose blinked up at him, a little stunned at this old-fashioned courtesy. “Thank you.”

He gave another little affirmative sound; Briar Rose considered it his default response to things that didn’t need full words. She took his proffered hand, feeling the warmth of it in the chill of the night, her own fingers griping his as she stiffly climbed out.

He handed her a business card. “The NYPD will cover the dry-cleaning or replacement of your dress, Doctor. And if you remember what it was that bothered you about Mr. Luna’s stabbing—call me.”

Briar Rose wrapped her fingers around the card. “It may be nothing helpful,” she warned, turning towards the porch.

“All information helps,” he countered. “Thank you again for your assistance.”

She looked back at him standing there and gave him a brief smile. “My duty; I was glad to help.” Turning, Briar Rose made her way to her door and started to unlock it, fully aware that the man at the curb hadn’t moved. Once she’d slipped inside, she risked a peek over her shoulder to see the Commissioner watching her.

Briar Rose nodded and only then did he head back to his car. She watched him drive off from through the beveled glass panels. “Good Lord they really don’t make ‘em like _that_ anymore,” she sighed.

*** *** ***

A week later, halfway through Mrs. Costigan’s biopsy, Briar Rose realized what had bothered her about the attack. She finished, washed up, and once back in her office, dug the business card out from her purse, studying it for a moment.

Professional, with the NYPD logo in the upper right corner; simple Times New Roman font: Francis X. Reagan, NYPD Commissioner and under that, a few phone numbers that Briar Rose assumed were in switchboard priority order. Bemused, she dialed the first one, ready to be put on hold or transferred once the line connected.

Unexpectedly his deep voice came over the line. “Reagan.”

She panicked a little. “Uh, yes. Commissioner. It’s me, Doctor Clowderbock.”

“Philharmonic Gala,” he replied, “the Luna stabbing.”

“Uh, yeah. I just remembered and you can check on it, but he, uh, didn’t have any defensive wounds. I was more concerned about his chest at the time, but from what I remember his hands and forearms were undamaged.”

He didn’t say anything and Briar Rose waited, feeling herself blush. She’d wasted his time, clearly, and was about to hang up when he spoke again. “No defensive wounds.”

“From what I remember but you can check. And if he was fighting off an attack, there should _be_ some. Does it mean anything?”

Again that little grunt, but he added, “I need to check the admitting report. Thank you, Doctor Clowderbock.” 

She felt better. Yes it was probably nothing, and maybe it was already noted somewhere but there was something reassuring in the Commissioner’s tone and Briar Rose appreciated it. “All right, thank you for letting me mention it. I hope it helps.”

“It may,” came his reply. “Thank you for telling me.”

“All right then. Thank you, bye.”

There was an awkward little pause and then Briar Rose hung up, feeling relieved and a tiny bit disappointed. She wasn’t sure why; Frank Reagan was probably one of the busiest men in the five boroughs and he’d just personally taken her call. But at the same time, Briar Rose guiltily wondered again about his mustache, and how it would feel against the side of her neck.

_Ridiculous_ , she mentally chided herself. _Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean a damned thing._ With a sigh Briar Rose resigned herself to never seeing him again and reached for her laptop to start on Ms Costigan’s chart.

*** *** ***

Two months later she saw him sitting across from a sleek blonde at O’Rourke’s Bar and Grill in Brooklyn.

She and Lucas were celebrating his birthday by taking a long lunch in the city, both of them in a great mood even though the overcast weather wasn’t. Briar Rose had just ordered the house burger when her gaze spotted Frank Reagan at the table off to Lucas’s left side. He was in profile to her, in earnest conversation with the woman, who was eating and listening. Briar Rose felt a tiny prickle of something and shifted her gaze away, trying to pretend it wasn’t disappointment.

“And Colin’s . . . B-Rose are you even _listening_?” Lucas wanted to know, stopping mid-story to chide her. 

“I’m listening. Colin’s thrilled, right? I know how much he likes Mallorca,” she countered.

Lucas smiled. “He loves Mallorca and given this weather I’m seriously considering his offer. You should take a trip there yourself; it’s not that expensive these days.”

“My Spanish is fatally tainted by my West Virginia twang, Lucas,” she pointed out, trying to keep her gaze averted but it was proving difficult. The blonde woman was nodding as she ate, her attention fixed on what Frank was saying to her, although it was impossible to hear over the sounds of the lunch crowd around them.

“They’d _love_ it,” Lucas predicted, waving his fork at her. “You’d be considered . . . exotic.”

“More like undecipherable,” Briar Rose countered, grinning briefly at her best friend. Lucas was lean and handsome—too handsome for an orthopedic surgeon-- with his salt and pepper hair and high cheekbones and whenever Langone Hospital did promotional photos he was one of the first picks.

They’d been friends for a decade, sharing a passion for their lines of work, and sports, bonding over a mutual distaste for the Chief of Surgery, Elliot Petrov. Lucas was funny, supportive and brilliant. His love-life was generally a disaster though, and she’d had been there through his two messy divorces.

Briar Rose flicked her gaze back to the table and a caught the woman’s sudden flinch as she dropped fork which clattered to the floor. Nobody else seemed to notice it but Frank, who looked startled, reaching across the table to his companion.

Without even realizing it, Briar Rose shot to her feet and darted over, pushing past Lucas to reach the blonde who was hunching over her plate now, tensing, face going ruddy in her attempts to breathe.

“Up,” Briar Rose ordered, and pulled the other woman to her feet, bumping the chair away. Arms around the slim waist, one hand locked on the other wrist, thumb finding the right spot under the ribs . . . Briar Rose yanked the woman to her, thrusting her fist hard up against the solar plexus. The first one took; a wad of semi-chewed beef popped out of the woman’s mouth, tumbling down the front of her dress to land on the table. Around them other diners were staring, but Briar Rose ignored them, loosening her grip as she felt the woman draw in a deep grateful breath and then begin to cough.

Briar Rose shifted, coming around to look the woman in the face. “Easy now. Cough up anything else you need to and we’ll get you some water. Just breathe slow if you can.”

The woman nodded, doing just that as Rose stroked her back soothingly. Moving in, Lucas spoke up as he looked around. “Just a little food down the wrong pipe, folks; she’s fine, just fine.”

Placated, the other diners slowly turned back to their own meals while a waiter scurried over. Briar Rose took a water glass from the table to hand it to the woman. “Slowly,” she ordered. “Throat’s going to be sore.”

The woman nodded, sipping it. Briar Rose shot Lucas a look and he nodded, moving to reassure the waiter. She risked at glance at Frank.

“Abigail, are you all right?” he rumbled, his attention focused on the woman who gave a shaky nod.

“F-fine now sir,” she amended, managing a wan smile.

“Doctor Clowderbock,” Briar Rose heard him murmur. “I _thought_ I recognized you.”

“Commissioner,” she replied, meeting his gaze. He looked . . . imposing. As usual. She wished she could think of something witty to say but the weight of his stare pinned her.

“I’m sorry, do you two _know_ each other?” Lucas asked, fishing the fork off the floor. He was eyeing the woman, Abigail, and giving her one of his famous smiles. Briar Rose fought an eye roll.

“Yes,” Frank acknowledged and said nothing more.

Abigail returned Lucas’ smile with one of her own. “As I recall a Doctor Clowderbock was instrumental in assisting us with a case of major insurance fraud. I take it you’re the same one since that's not exactly a common name.”

Us. So this woman worked for Frank.

Briar Rose blinked; Frank nodded. “Her observation at the crime scene helped build the case. Did you ever send us the bill for you gown?” he frowned at her.

Put on the spot, Briar Rose shook her head, blushing a little. “No, no. Didn’t want to bother the department. It wasn’t a big deal.”

It _had_ been though; she’d loved that particular Maxine Lee dress and when every cleaner had failed her, Briar Rose had laid it to rest in the garbage with a sigh.

Abigail and Frank a look that Briar Rose took to mean Matters were going to be Handled, and tried not to smile in reply.

Lucas shook his head as he checked his watch. “Very cool. Sorry to break it to you, B-Rose but we need to get back. You folks are going to be all right?” he looked again at Abigail and Briar Rose wanted to swat him; once a flirt, always a flirt.

She watched as Frank put a protective hand on Abigail’s elbow. “Yes.” He turned to look at her and added. “Thank you, Doctor. Again.”

“Yes,” Abigail chimed in with a smile of her own. “Thanks.”

Out on the sidewalk, Lucas had hailed a cab and held the door open for her even though his gaze was still towards the pub and most likely on the blonde inside it. “Wish _I’d_ been the one to save her,” he sighed.

“I _bet_ you do,” Briar Rose snorted, climbing into the cab. When Lucas settled in beside her, he gave her a knowing look.

“So. Now that you know the police commissioner . . .” he began in a hopeful tone.

“No,” Briar Rose shook her head. “If you want to find out Abigail’s last name you’re going to have to do it on your own.”

“Some friend _you_ are,” Lucas pouted, but he grinned as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

*** *** ***

That weekend, the front doorbell rang, and when Briar Rose made her way to answer it, George was waiting for his chance to dart out. She grabbed his collar and opened the door. “Yes?”

A young man with a huge bouquet of flowers eyed George warily as he held out the blooms. “Doc-tor Clooderbook?” he mangled.

Used to it, Briar Rose sighed. “Clowderbock, yes. Uh, I wasn’t expecting . . . flowers.”

The young man grinned. “Sometime surprises are good, Señora. Sign here please.”

Briar Rose stepped out after shoving George back into the house behind her and took the clipboard, wondering if one of her patients had delivered early. Her glance spotted the card on the little stick and she plucked it up as she thanked the delivery man and carried the arrangement of roses, carnations and snapdragons into the house.

_Doctor Clowderbock,_ the note began. _Thank you for your timely intervention at lunch this week. Both the Commissioner and I appreciate it very much. Please accept the flowers as a token of my gratitude. In regards to the matter of your gala dress, the commissioner wishes to know when and where he can take you to find a suitable replacement. Please call to confirm._

__

__

With gratitude,

Det. Abigail Baker


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few weeks, two of the things Briar Rose learned quickly about Frank Reagan were that he was doggedly persistent about what he perceived as matters of honor—given the lengthy negotiations about arranging a Saturday morning to take her shopping was the current case in point—and also that he was prompt. She’d barely managed to peek through the window and grab George’s collar before the doorbell rang.

“Hang on!” she called, tightening her grip. George was gentle and friendly, but he was also big. Briar Rose opened the door cautiously, trying to keep her dog from surging forward.

Frank Reagan stood there, unfazed. He gave her a nod, and then extended a hand towards George, who brightened and gave his wrist several appreciative licks. “Borzoi?”

“Uh, yes. So, George, this is Frank,” she murmured, and blushed, looking up. “Sorry, it’s a habit.”

She got that quick little quirk of a smile again, and this time Briar Rose saw dimples bracketing that mustache. “You introduce people _to_ your dog?”

Briar Rose gently tugged George back so that Frank could come into the foyer. “Yes. It . . . helps him gauge who’s a friend.”

Frank nodded as if this made sense. George’s tail was pluming back and forth at having found a dog person. “So, let me get my bags . . .”

He waited patiently, one hand stroking down the Borzoi’s back as Briar Rose scooped up her purse and a few of the string bags in the bin by the door. She’d forced herself to stay casual, which for Saturday meant putting her hair into one long braid and the rest of her into jeans and a sweater. Given that the man waiting for her was just as casual—baseball cap, button-down, sweater, jeans and sneakers--made matters easier, and Briar Rose barely remembered the shoe box as she waved him out and told George to guard the house.

“So, the farmer’s market at McKinley, then up to eighth and fifty-second,” Briar Rose murmured as she buckled up her seatbelt. “By my best guess it shouldn’t take more than two hours. Two and a half, tops.”

Frank shot her a sidelong look, his grip on the steering wheel. “Should I set my watch?”

Briar Rose returned the glance. “I . . . look, I’m _nervous_ here. You’re a busy important man and I don’t want to waste any more of your time than I have to, all right?”

It was almost funny to watch him sigh and run a hand down his face; Briar Rose listened to the breath leak out of Frank before he spoke, his tone low and patient. “Doctor Clowderbock—”

“B-Rose,” she corrected, “Or Briar Rose. It’s easier to say.”

“Briar Rose,” he amended. “This isn’t a waste of my time or yours. You stepped up at the scene of a crime without any hesitation, which is rare in this day and age. You helped to care for a crime victim who ended up being a vital part of a much _bigger_ investigation which saved New York City thousands of dollars. In the course of that you lost a dress that my assistant estimated was probably worth a few hundred. I rarely get to reimburse anyone personally for good deeds done on behalf of the city, so _please_ allow me this chance to thank you.”

Once again she felt her face heat up, this time in response to the sincerity of his words. “Did you . . . _rehearse_ that?” Briar Rose asked curiously.

Now he looked a little wary. “Maybe,” Frank admitted, glancing in the rear view mirror before pulling out onto 85th.

The McKinley Park Farmer’s Market was one of the nicer Saturday errands on her list, and Briar Rose already had an idea of what she wanted even before they’d parked. “Green beans and a few ears of corn; I’m making succotash, and I want to see if they’ve got any good apples in yet,” she murmured, looking at the list on her phone. “Also charcoal biscuits for George if they have any.”

“Succotash,” Frank echoed absently. “I thought that just came in cans from Libby.”

Briar Rose whipped her head up and glared at him. “I’m going to _pretend_ you didn’t say what I thought you just said. Seriously—you’ve never had fresh, _real_ succotash?”

It was faintly hilarious to see such a big man look uncomfortable; Frank looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Not really. I’m . . . more of a potatoes sort of person.” 

“Well they have those here too,” Briar Rose assured him. “We’ll see what’s out.” 

She took her time, doing her best to focus on the offerings, sniffing, weighing, asking questions just as she did every Saturday. Several people at the stalls knew her, and Briar Rose chatted as her string bags began to fill up. Just at the edge of the first row was a huge bin of potatoes, and she watched Frank saunter over to it. 

The sign read: _Upstate Russets 10lbs/$5.00_ and when he reached for his wallet, Briar Rose _knew_ she’d have to intervene. Moving quickly, she cut in front of him so closely he nearly ran into her, but Briar Rose flashed the vendor a quick smile. “Excuse me, but I’m wondering about the Russets?” 

“Good eye,” the man told her. “Fresh from a co-op up in Garden City, all organic.” 

“Nice,” she murmured, aware of Frank behind her. “So why the high price? Because honestly? I can pick up a ten from the supermarket for three and some change.” 

The man’s expression shifted a little, his mouth curling up a bit. “Ah, but who knows _where_ those are trucked in from? Now you look like a smart shopper and I appreciate that, so how about fifteen pounds for five?” 

“Fifteen for five _if_ you throw in one of those heads of cabbage too,” Briar Rose countered. “Maybe that little one that probably won’t sell otherwise. I’m a regular; just ask Carla.” 

The man laughed. “I _thought_ so. Deal. Need any onions?” 

A little more haggling got her the onions as well and by the time Frank handed the man seven dollars the last of the string bags was bulging. 

“That was . . .” Frank began, his voice amused, “impressive. Do you haggle all the time?” 

Briar Rose flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Yep. They don’t want to have to haul their produce home, and as I said, I’m a regular. I want a bargain but I’m fair about it. And I know produce.” 

“How?” Frank asked, opening the trunk and neatly setting the string bags. 

So Briar Rose told him about growing up Cherry Hollow, West Virginia. “Population five thousand, give or take,” she mused. “I swore to myself I was going to get out and live in the biggest city I could find and now . . . well sometimes I think about going back.” 

“What’s stopping you?” he asked, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

“The simple truth that it’s not the same place I left,” Briar Rose sighed. “I’ve got some property there that’s going to seed even as we speak.” 

The ride up Eighth was comfortable; they talked about the city and what they liked and disliked about it, about the changes they’d both seen over the years. By the time they crossed Fifty-Ninth though, she realized he was looking concerned. 

Already Briar Rose was learning the expressive language of his eyebrows and at the moment Frank was scowling slightly, drawing them down as he looked at the sidewalks. “We’re in one of the satellite Chinatowns,” he rumbled. 

Briar Rose agreed. “Yep. They have one of the best consignment shops in Brooklyn. There. I think we can fit in that spot . . .” 

Ten minutes later they stood in front of a little storefront with iron grille work and a green and pink awning over the door. Slightly goofy looking Koi paintings decorated the barred windows and a bell tinkled when Rose pushed open the door, the shoebox under her arm. 

“Hai!” came a cheerful call. “Yīshēng!” 

“Ginnie,” Briar Rose exchanged a hug with the round little woman who came out from behind a counter. “How is your mother doing?” 

“Better. Much better,” Ginnie replied cheerfully. “No more tumor so she is walking again. So good.” 

“Very good,” Briar Rose agreed, and caught Ginnie’s glance at Frank. Turning, she noted once again how big he was especially in such a small shop. “Ah, this is my friend, who is, ah, here. With me. So, do you still have that dress?” she rushed, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt. 

Ginnie shifted her slightly suspicious gaze back to Briar Rose. “The Chanel, or the Halston?” 

“The Halston’s still here?” Briar Rose tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. “I thought it would have been snapped up by now.” 

“Buyer fell through; wanted free alterations,” Ginnie sighed. “Still here. Maybe check them both out?” 

“I’m only here for—” Briar Rose began, but Frank interrupted. 

“We’ve come all this way. Maybe we can arrange a . . . two for one?” 

Ginnie grinned. “Boyfriend has _good_ idea.” 

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Briar Rose called, but Ginnie had disappeared into the back room behind the counter so she turned to stare at Frank. 

He stared back, raising his eyebrows a little. “Haggling?” he murmured pleasantly. 

Briar Rose huffed. “This is different. We’re not talking potatoes here.” 

He a strangely wistful expression crossed his face. “No, we’re not. And I’m sorry the clerk mistook me for Doctor Hatch.” 

“What?” Confused, Briar Rose blinked but Ginnie had returned with the bagged dresses over her shoulder. 

“Take them both to dressing room. He can help if you like.” 

“No,” Briar Rose accepted the dresses. “No he can stay right _there_. I’m pretty sure this won’t take long.” 

*** *** *** 

It wasn’t until they headed back down 8th, and Briar Rose was struggling hard with a whirl of embarrassment, pleasure and awkwardness that she figured out what Frank had meant. She looked at his profile as he drove, noting a very faint pleased look on his face. “Wait a minute. You think Lucas is . . . that I’m _involved_ with him?” 

A brief flicker of his mustache confirmed it, and Briar Rose spluttered. “No! Oh lord no, no _no_. He’s smart and funny but just . . . not in this lifetime. That is a thought that needs to be taken out back and _shot_ , Commissioner.” 

He made one of those little non-verbal sounds. Briar Rose sighed heavily. 

“Look. I’ve had fun today. More than I’ve had in . . . well, a long time. And honestly, you didn’t have to get me both dresses. I blame Ginnie for making it impossible to say no to a great bargain. But I don’t want any misconceptions here. I know this is a one-off and Lucas Hatch is _not_ my boyfriend.” 

“Glad to hear it, especially since he called my assistant three times last week and is right on the verge of being charged with harassment,” Frank murmured. “Not the sort of behavior I condone, particularly when I was under a mis-assumption.” 

Briar Rose gave a humorless chuckle. “I’ll make sure he reels his libido in.” 

"Yes. Her husband and children would appreciate that,” Frank pointed out quietly. 

That left a little sourness between them, and Briar Rose felt discouraged. It had been a fun morning up until this point and she wasn’t sure how to get back on better footing. When they pulled up to her place, she took another breath. “I’m sorry Lucas is being a jackass. I’ll talk to him.” 

“Briar Rose,” Frank murmured, and she liked the slow way her name rolled out, “I’m sure he’s gotten the message.” 

He carried the produce in while she took the dresses and once inside, Briar Rose directed him towards the kitchen where they sorted out the potatoes and re-bagged them. “How many potatoes do you _eat_?” she asked, eyeing the sack. 

“My fair share. They’re for dinner on Sunday,” Frank assured her. “Eight to ten Reagans at any given time will make short work of them.” 

Briar Rose grinned. “I bet. Mashed?” 

“Usually. Sometimes baked, au gratin once in a while,” he mused. “It’s an Irish thing.” 

“You ought to try succotash,” she teased. “Might give those praties of yours a run for their money. In fact . . .” 

And that was how forty minutes later she sent Frank Reagan home with a full crock pot and strict instructions. “Refrigerate overnight. Plug in low for three hours and do _not_ unlock that lid a minute before serving it up.” 

“Or what? Is it going to shut down the containment grid and let all the ghosts out?” Frank griped back, but she saw the dimples again and smirked back at him. 

“Or you won’t get the best flavor,” Briar Rose finished sweetly. “It’s better when it gets a chance to blend. I’m betting the majority of those many Reagans will like it. And if not . . .” she shrugged, “at least they'll get a good serving of vegetables in before they figured it out.” 

Frank gave a nod. “Stealthy.” He set the crock pot on the floor on the passenger side before closing it and turning to face Briar Rose once more. This time his gaze was softer, and she looked up at him enjoying how relaxed he looked. 

“Thank you,” he told her quietly. “I wasn’t sure how this . . . venture would turn out and it’s been surprisingly . . . enjoyable.” 

“Yes,” Briar Rose agreed, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “And thank you for the dresses. It’s going to be fun figuring out which one to wear to Yo-Yo Ma next month.” 

He nodded and then seemed to collect himself, straightening up once more. Briar Rose could see him picking up his burdens again, mentally returning to his duties and responsibilities just by the set of his shoulders. Seeing it twisted something in her chest and she couldn’t tell if it was sorrow or pride or some strange blend of both. 

“The crock pot,” Frank murmured. “I’ll return it—" 

“Your next free Saturday, maybe?” Briar Rose offered. “Hang on to it and we’ll figure something out. Um, just one last thing . . .” 

She came a little closer, just within the edge of his personal space. “I know this is going to sound weird but can I _just_ . . . touch . . .” 

Frank sighed, and bent forward. Briar Rose darted her hand out, stroking her index finger over the shiny thick strands of his mustache, giving a little smirk before yanking her hand back. “Thanks. I’ve been _dying_ to do that since the day I saw it.” 

“Usually it’s kids,” Frank replied in resignation. “They don’t believe it’s real. What’s _your_ excuse?” 

“It’s sexy,” she blurted, blushing. 

He stared at her for a beat. “Okay that’s not usually the response I get from anyone, especially the kids.” 

“Good,” Briar Rose giggled. “Okay then. Go mash your potatoes and I’ll see you again sometime, Frank Reagan.” 

And the look he gave her all but promised it. 


	3. Chapter 3

“So who IS he?” Lainie wanted to know.

Briar Rose looked down into her coffee mug and tried not to let herself smile.

“Oh . . . just someone I met a few months ago,” she murmured.

“Un huh,” Lainie snickered. “Look, I know it’s none of my business but, no wait, it’s _precisely_ my business. Come on, he’s got a name, right? At least give me _that_ much?”

“Francis,” Briar Rose responded, tongue in cheek. They were in Lainie’s kitchen and through the kitchen window she could see across 85th street to her own house.

Lainie brayed. “No six foot plus guy is called ‘Francis’ except maybe by his mother. So Frank then. What is he; construction engineer? Maybe a longshoreman? He’s got that look ya know.”

Briar Rose glanced up at her friend. “Fish all you want; I’m not biting, Lainie.”

Lainie tried to look hurt but her eyes twinkled. “Fine thing. Here I’ve been trying to set you up for _years_ and you go around behind my fat ass and land someone who looks like a shaved bear--”

“He is NOT a shaved bear!” Briar Rose bristled, “and I haven’t ‘landed’ anything! Frank is my _friend_.”

“Hey, hey, you forgot to add that my ass isn’t fat, either,” Lainie pointed out, grinning as she moved to refill Briar Rose’s mug.

“It’s not. It’s the muscled workhorse of your queenly form,” Briar Rose replied, smiling. “Feel better?”

“Loads,” Lainie replied, coming to sit opposite from her and pushing a plate of cookies forward. “Okay, so Mr. Large is your friend. But is he a potential?”

That was a harder question to deal with, and Briar Rose drew in a deep breath. Potential was a loaded adjective, even more so when applied to the man who’d begun showing up at her porch every other Saturday to take her to the Farmer’s Market.

“I’ve had to referee fights at the table before,” Frank had told her when he’d handed back the crock pot the first Saturday. “But never over who was going to get the last serving of something. Two grown men threatening each other over a side dish is a first. Consider the succotash a success.”

“So who DID get the last . . .” she stopped when she saw those dimples around his mustache and laughed. “ _Really_?”

“Potatoes are still my go-to,” he told her. “But it was a tasty and expedient solution.”

And damn it, his smile . . .

She looked at Lainie, who had one arm propped on the table, her chin resting on it. “I don’t know.”

“Ah,” Lainie nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “Gotcha. Well you could do worse, that’s for sure. He’s single, right? Not looking for something on the side?”

Briar Rose bit her lips and nodded. She’d discreetly checked and found the records, noted the diagnosis with a sad pang. Fifty was far too young, despite everything the oncology team at Maimonides Medical had done for the late Mrs. Reagan. “He’s widowed.”

“Oh,” Lainie’s expression softened. “Okay, that’s a different kettle of fish. Some guys, they don’t remarry though—you know that, right?”

“I’m not _looking_ to get married, for the seven millionth time, Lainie Esther Goldstein,” Briar Rose grumbled. “It’s not for me. I’m happy as I am with my own hours and own schedule and own--”

“—vibrator,” Lainie snickered. “Fine. So Mr. Frank Large is a,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “ _friend_ , and you’re happy, I get it. Just don’t come running to me when the paradigm shifts, baby because I think it’s gonna.”

Briar Rose shot her best friend a weary glance. “Noted. Now what’s up with the weird couple on the corner? Have they done any more nude sunbathing?”

\--oo00oo—

For a month after that they kept missing each other; Briar Rose got paged for an emergency C-section one Friday night that lasted until well into Saturday noon, and two weeks later, she’d gotten a brief text from Frank cancelling. The local news stations were covering a story about a police standoff with some armed cult holed up in Green Point so Briar Rose understood.

Still, it was worrying. And frustrating. She liked Saturdays with Frank. They’d gotten into the habit of bringing George with them to the Farmer’s Market, and then taking him to the Dyker Beach Dog Run where he joyously dashed around in a streak of smoke-colored speed, happy fetch the battered tennis balls that Frank was more than willing to throw.

They spent the time in comfortable silence, and quiet conversation about nearly everything but their jobs, and Briar Rose liked that too, even though she couldn’t help being a doctor and he couldn’t help being a policeman. When she’d given him a tour of her place THAT had come up unexpectedly.

“That’s . . .” he’d glared down at the two tall plants on the back porch, those brows drawing together in disapproval. 

“Decriminalized,” Briar Rose had pointed out firmly. “And in my case, prescribed.”

He’d given her an appraising look that held a degree of disappointment, but Briar Rose had lifted her chin and held it. “Don’t you dare cut eye with _me_ , Frank Reagan, not when I’m sure you’ve got a few prescriptions of your own along with whatever you drink on a regular basis. I’d rather manage my pain without opioids or alcohol, thank you.”

They’d stared at each other for a few beats longer and finally he cocked his head, ever so slightly. “Pain.”

Briar Rose had dropped her gaze. “Pain. I was in a car accident in ’86. A pretty bad one. I’ve got . . . scars.” She didn’t want to say more, but he stood there, watching her with those dark eyes and the words just tumbled out as she leaned against the frame of the back door. “I was on the passenger side when a plumbing van ran a red light and hit us. The door crumpled, gashed into my right side.”

“Briar Rose . . .” he’d murmured, moving closer. She’d held out a hand, splaying it on his chest, feeling the buttons of his cardigan against her palm.

“Partial hysterectomy,” She’d told him, closing her eyes. “Some muscle re-sectioning but nothing debilitating. Just residual nerve damage that flares up every now and then. Most of the time the over the counter stuff works, but when it doesn’t . . . I blaze up.”

After a long moment she’d felt his hand cover hers on his chest, warm and wide. 

“Okay.” He had murmured, and when Briar Rose had opened her eyes again, Frank had given her fingers a squeeze.

So strange. She hadn’t told anyone about the accident in years; even Lucas didn’t really know the details. But here she’d just spilled it out to a man she hadn’t even known for a year.

“I . . . understand pain,” Frank had told her gently. “Just . . . having them out here is risky. Even in Dyker Heights.”

“Oh I bring Mick and Bianca inside at night.”

At the names he’d given her a pained shake of his head, and the mood lightened considerably as she grinned.

*** *** ***

The text was short but welcome. //Saturday?//

//Yes. Wait, no. Have a 5k to run. // she texted back, annoyed that the hospital’s charity event was cutting into her time.

Their time.

//Where?//

//Owl’s Head. For the hospital. Neonatal unit. U can sponsor me.// Briar Rose added cheekily. It was a worthy cause and while she knew she wouldn’t come in first, any money raised would help.

//Time?//

//8. //

She didn’t get a response immediately, and wondered if Frank had second thoughts, but after a few minutes her phone pinged.

//Done.//

Saturday was overcast with a threat of rain. Most of the trees were turning and the chill off of the harbor was almost enough for Briar Rose to have second thoughts about running, but her department didn’t have anyone else entered and she didn’t want to let them down. She stretched and looked around at the clusters of people already there setting up tables, mounting banners, and staking out spots along the course, not admitting to herself she was looking for Frank.

She wore leggings with cartoon storks on them, and pink shorts along with a sweatshirt that bore the the NYU Langone Hospital logo across the front, a little snugger than Briar Rose wanted but it was for a good cause. As she flexed, she saw a few of the techs from Radiology warming up as well, giving her a few nods. After a quick couple of jumping jacks she turned and started: Frank was there, flashing a grin before settling into his usual stoic expression, baseball cap and round sunglasses obscuring his face. “Boo.”

“I’ll boo _you_ ,” she muttered, but grinned. “You made it.”

“Wanted to check that my investment pays off,” he replied, and she noticed he was scanning the park as he spoke. “It’s like visiting the racehorse before the event.”

“I’m so flattered,” Briar Rose rolled her eyes. “How much did you lay out?”

He murmured a number, and she sucked in a breath, nearly hyperventilating. “No! Frank!”

“Too late,” he shrugged those big shoulders of his. “I saw that event sponsors match the donations of the first three place winners so . . . no pressure.”

She bounced, feeling a new tension in her stomach, exasperated and at the same time touched. “Right, no pressure. You don’t know I can do this!”

“You run three times a week,” he countered patiently. “With a dog whose average speed is about thirty to thirty five miles an hour.”

“Not consistently,” Briar Rose gulped. “Okay, okay. I’ll do my best. No promises.”

“Your best is all I want,” Frank assured her, peeking over the top of his sunglasses. The warmth of his gaze helped, and she nodded.

Briar Rose reached up before she could talk herself out of it, cupping his cheek, letting her thumb rest along the dimple there at the edge of his mustache. “Fine. Good,” she repeated softly. “Just for the record this is a _very_ underhanded thing to do.”

“I get accused of that a lot,” Frank nodded gazing down at her. “Sometimes, it’s even true.”

 

She ran. About sixty people had signed up, and Briar Rose found herself in the front ten, settling into a comfortable pace, trying to keep her concentration on the path and not on the thoughts tumbling through her head. It was hard to push aside the jumble but she worked at it, letting herself concentrate on breathing, on keeping a steady pace through the first circuit around the park. One of the radiologists was right at her shoulder, blocking her view of the spectators. She picked up the pace and risked a glance when they passed the starting point, noting that Frank was standing under a big maple.

The second circuit went faster, and she felt her stride smooth out, braid trailing behind her as she pounded along. Four of the front pack dropped back; the radiologist was still with her. By the time she passed Frank a second time, Briar Rose felt giddy. She sped up, putting her focus on the run, keeping her stride, pushing a little more as she came around one last time.

Not first; the radiologist zoomed past on younger stronger legs, but Briar Rose sailed into second place, flying past the final marker and slowing a little in the stretch beyond, dropping speed and feeling her breath go ragged as she circled back amid cheering and people coming towards her. The organizer took her number and handed her a bottle of water while other runners came flying past. She slowly walked towards the big maple, accepting a few congratulations from other hospital personnel before reaching him, her breath nearly normal when she did. 

He turned from gazing out over the park and smiled at her. A full, real smile, all the sweeter for being so rare. “Congratulations. Looks like I backed the right surgeon.”

“You did. Thank you for the tremendous contribution to the neo-natal unit,” Briar Rose murmured. “But _you_ didn’t get anything out of it, and I’m going to rectify that, Commissioner.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. I’m going to bake you a pie.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nearly six weeks later Briar Rose wondered which would come before the other—their first kiss or first fight. The season was well into October now, and while alternate Saturdays were more often the norm, she and Frank were in an odd holding pattern of gentle routine. She enjoyed what time they had, certainly, but with it came some limitations and Briar Rose wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She understood he was a public figure, and that carried a price. They’d already been spotted a few times by a few on-duty police officers and seeing Frank salute and nod was a little startling. He always looked a little sour about it, and Briar Rose took that to mean he wasn’t particularly happy about being recognized, which seemed reasonable. The job was already thanklessly long as it was.

Briar Rose didn’t touch him. At least in public view. Since the 5k she’d made it a point to keep her hands to herself when they were outside, feeling that would tamp some of the public’s curiosity down. Once they returned to her house though, she let herself pat his shoulder or squeeze his forearm as they worked in the kitchen together, prepping what they’d bought from the Farmer’s Market. Frank seemed happiest when peeling potatoes or watching her roll out pie crust, patting George under the big worktable table, or just sipping coffee.

“After Greta . . . I couldn’t handle the guilt,” he admitted one Saturday. “Losing a partner is hard; even more so when their faith in you was their complete world. I . . . let her down.”

“And she would have grieved _you_ if _you’d_ been the one killed,” Briar Rose pointed out, and by the startled look she could tell Frank hadn’t thought of that. “It goes both ways.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, dandling one of George’s ears. “Still . . . I didn’t want to go through it again.”

Briar Rose nodded, wondering if this conversation was strictly limited to dogs or not. She dropped the rolled crust into the pie plate and began to pat it down, fingers expertly molding the sides to an even thickness all the way around, humming a little.

“Pass me the fork, please,” Briar Rose requested. Frank did, watching her press the tines along the edges.

“Briar Rose,” he began, and this time his tone was different. She forced herself to stay calm and keep her focus on the crust. “We need to talk.”

God, the last four words she wanted to hear.

Briar Rose refused to meet his gaze. “Do we?”

That seemed to throw him for a loop; out of the corner of her eye she watched him glance down at the table for a second. When Frank looked up again, his gaze was soulful.

“I’m not sure how to begin,” he admitted. “But the longer I hold off, the harder it is to have a choice. I’m not . . .”

Briar Rose took a deep breath. “You’re not sure where this is going; you’re not sure you’re ready; you’re not going to see me again—which _is_ it, Frank? Just spit the words out already.”

And there it was, blooming across his slightly weathered face . . . a blush. She’d never seen it on a man but the ruddy tinge was there all right, highlighting his cheekbones.

“I . . .” he stalled, staring at her.

Briar Rose pursed her mouth. “And that’s where it stops being a discussion. I _get_ it. You’re in a very public, highly dangerous job with long hours and you don’t want to _hurt_ me so you think it would be best if we didn’t see each other again. I _thought_ this was coming.”

“Briar Rose—” he rumbled, brows coming down now.

She held up a floury hand. “No, you don’t need to drag it out. I’m a grown woman. No need to explain anything.”

“Wait a minute,” Frank managed to protest. “That’s not . . . that’s not how this is supposed to _go_.”

“Frank!” She chuffed, finally pushing the pie dish aside as she turned to face him. “We’re not _kids_. We don’t have to get into a shouting match, or, or get all _teary_ about this.” Of course the minute she said it, Briar Rose felt her own eyes well up and she blinked hard. “After all, it’s not as if . . . as if we had any sort of . . . _thing_ . . . between us . . .”

“That,” he growled, “is exactly _it_! A . . .” he gestured vaguely. “Thing. Relationship. Whatever.”

He rose up, taking the two steps around the table to loom over her and Briar Rose felt herself tense up. Not defensively though; something inside her shuddered as he pinned her with his gaze. “Damn it. Briar Rose I’m not good at this. Comes from dealing with a lot more of the negative side of life but it goes like this: I like you. I like _this_. And you’re right—I have an overwhelming job under the unforgiving eye of the citizens of this city. You . . . make life a little less bleak. You and Saturday mornings ease the load.”

“Okay,” she whispered. It was unexpectedly sweet of him to tell her that, especially since she felt the same way. “Thank you.”

“Not done,” he warned her. “The problem is I’m just greedy enough to want to take this a little further, and honorable enough to remember it’s not all about me.”

Briar Rose tried to decipher that, but the very nearness of the man was completely distracting any ability to do so. “Wait, do you want _me_ to break things off with you? Are you putting this on _me_?”

“No!” he roared, and immediately dropped his tone. “What I’m trying to say . . . ask . . . is, _if_ . . . you are willing . . .” Frank’s courage seemed to fail him, and he trailed off, looking perplexed, mustache bristling as he pursed his lips.

“Oh for Pete’s sake!” Briar Rose reached up, cupping her hands around his cheeks and pulled his face to hers. The prickly stab of his mustache startled her, but the unexpected heat of his mouth countered it instantly in a clumsy, desperate, _amazing_ kiss. She moaned, felt Frank’s groan against her own lips and then she was tugged, hard, into his embrace.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked dimly aware of how stupid the question sounded. The problem was that all the sensible parts of her brain had sizzled out, and her body was now throttling every sensation up at light-speed. “This . . . is not . . . how to break up w-with me!”

The only answer from Frank was another growl, this one as that damned mustache scraped along the side of her throat. Instantly Briar Rose’s hips wriggled in helpless response grinding against him in a way that made it clear her body was zooming up to eleven. She clutched his shoulders.

“Not. Breaking. Up.” He managed in quick grunts as they backed against the table, rattling the pie dish. Briar Rose turned her head to kiss him again, swept up in another magnificent liplock that somehow _un_ -locked into something much more sensual, bristles be damned.

When she pulled back breathlessly, a flicker of colored lights through her kitchen window brought Briar Rose back to hard reality as a police car rolled to a stop in the street outside. She tugged herself out of Frank’s grip, fishing frantically for the dishtowel at her waist, wiping her powdery hand prints from the sides of his face. “Frank!” came her desperate warning.

He’d seen the patrol car though and was quickly mopping his face and running a hand over his mouth even as he shot her a gaze. “Out of _all_ the Saturdays,” Frank groused. To her he added, “They wouldn’t be here unless it was urgent. We are not done.”

“I don’t even know _what_ we are,” she shot back, trying not to laugh. She headed down to the front door, catching George and opening it just as the bell rang.

The young patrolman looked startled. “Excuse me, ma’am, but—"

Frank lumbered up behind Briar Rose, settling his ball cap on, not looking at her. “Killigan?”

“Sorry to bust your RDO sir, but that scheduled protest at Foley Park is getting out of hand,” the patrolmen in a low voice.

After a few instructions Briar Rose couldn’t hear, Frank waved the patrol car off and turned to her, his expression back into professional mode. If it wasn’t for the slightest trace of flour on the very edge of his mustache she might have been able to keep a straight face As it was, the hint of burn along the side of her throat was probably going to raise a welt later, she knew.

“Um . . . go. Stay safe,” Rose murmured, not sure whether to hug him or just stand there stiffly.

Frank solved the problem for her by brushing a thumb along her cheek. “Not done,” he murmured, and added, “Succotash.”

She stared as he climbed into his SUV and drove off.  
“What?”

*** *** *** 

//FYI. Sunday. There were complaints about no pie.// came the text a few nights later. //MANY complaints.//

Briar Rose leaned tiredly against the hallway wall, feeling the sorrowful ache down to her bones. Six hours in surgery. Four units of whole blood. 

It was nearly eleven PM.

//Stock up on ice cream as a back-up.//

She rubbed her eyes, pushing herself off the wall, trying to decide whether to shower or head home.

//Freezer already full.//

//Of what?//

//Not pie.//

Suddenly Briar Rose didn’t want to _do_ this, not right now. Not when two floors up, Sandra Cortez was in post-op, sedated, her hopes for a normal pregnancy gone. She started to tap something blunt but stopped, staring at the screen.

He didn’t know. It wasn’t his fault.

//Sorry. V. Bad night.// she managed. //Didn’t win this time. Talk to you tomorrow.//

Briar Rose climbed out of her scrubs and into her clothes, gathered her purse and headed home. The clear night was frosty, and some of the houses she passed already had pumpkins on their porches. By the time she turned off of Fourth to Eighty-Fifth, she was blinking hard, eyes damp.

And a familiar SUV was there. She pulled up into her driveway, climbing out at the same time he did, moving on stiff legs over to him.

“I said I’d see you _tomorrow_ ,” Briar Rose tried to chide, but her voice was clumsy with fatigue. Frank reached for her and she let him pull her into his arms.

And she cried. It was easy to do against the front of his jacket, wrapped in his warm embrace with the sad story of Ms Cortez and her double tragedy coming out between sobs.

He kept holding her, resting his chin on the top of her head, listening. Not saying anything, but tightening his grip when she needed it, loosening it again when she didn’t. Briar Rose buried her face in the sweet Frank-scented darkness and took the offered comfort. 

When she was ready, she lifted her face, trying to smile, but she knew it was crooked. “It . . . just hit hard. I can be professional most of the time, but sometimes certain situations just _get_ to you.”

Frank nodded. “I know.”

He followed her up to the porch, making sure she had her keys, and that she turned on a light before he stepped back. Briar Rose turned to look at him in the pale gleam. He reached out to touch her cheek.

“No kiss goodnight?” she wavered, trying to tease but not making hitting the mark.

“There’s a time for those sorts of kisses and . . . it’s not right now,” he rumbled, but he bent forward and pressed a slow tickly benediction on her forehead. “Go get some sleep. Let go as best you can. Text me.”

Briar Rose nodded, rubbing her cheek with the heel of one hand. “Okay.”

He was halfway down the steps, his broad back to her when she said it.

“Succotash.”

Frank paused, looking over his shoulder. He smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Halloween night Briar Rose and Lainie teamed up to create haunted porches, artistically draping webbing and fake spiders in appropriately spooky displays that faced each other across 85th Avenue. Briar Rose had carved several pumpkins as well, tolerating Lainie’s commentary about her surgical skills being wasted on people.

“So, Mr. Large,” Lainie murmured, bending the pipe cleaner legs of another spider. “How are the, ah, dynamics going?”

Briar Rose looked up from the colander of pumpkin seeds she was rinsing in the sink. It was still early but she could see a few kids starting out, down the street. “Just fine,” she replied as lightly as she could.

They had an unfinished conversation looming, and her body tingled at the memory of those kisses . . . but other than that, yes, things were fine, she thought to herself.

“That’s good,” Lainie replied in the same light tone, but Briar Rose wasn’t fooled. She shot a look over her shoulder, noting her neighbor’s smirk.

“Lainie . . .”

“He coming over tonight?” 

“I don’t think so,” Briar Rose replied firmly. “He’s probably working late.”

“Not, say, passing out candy in his _own_ neighborhood?” Lainie replied, “Which is, wow what a coincidence, _only two miles away_ from here?”

Briar Rose stiffened and tried to glare at Lainie, who smiled sweetly. “Yeah I _thought_ I recognized that lip rug of his—you’re baking pies with the NYPD police chief, aren’t ya?”

“Commissioner,” Briar Rose corrected before she could catch herself. “Lainie . . .”

Lainie chuckled and set the spider down. “He’s cute, if you’re into Teddy Roosevelt lookalikes, I guess.”

“So help me Lainie, I’m going to smack you in the _back_ of the head with a wooden spoon,” Briar Rose threatened, but she couldn’t help snickering at the accuracy of the observation.

“Give me a break,” Lainie hoisted herself out of the kitchen chair. “The man’s got a reputation of being good at his job, which is probably one of the shittiest out there. Who am I to judge? But I don’t want to see him taking advantage of you, B-Rose. It’s _not_ your job to give without getting _something_ in return, ya know? Maybe you guys will get to being friends with benefits, but make sure some of those benefits are _yours_. That’s all I’m sayin.”

Briar Rose moved to give Lainie a quick hug. “Thanks. I’m glad you’re looking out for me.”

She’d known Lainie for over a decade and in that time the two of them had become heartfelt friends over coffee and minor disasters and neighborhood drama, each of them supporting the other through the years.

The doorbell rang.

“Oooh, they get earlier and earlier every year,” Lainie grumbled. “Okay, let’s get going.”

The next few hours were busy, and Briar Rose was glad she’d put George upstairs with a rawhide chew because if not he’d be a nervous wreck at not being allowed to snuffle-lick every visitor. By nine though, the majority of trick or treaters had dwindled significantly, and Briar Rose eyed the candy bowl, wondering if it was too late to pack it up for the night.

//36// her phone pinged. 

She could visualize his smugness.  
// I had 27, and 3 strollers.// Briar Rose texted back. //How many superheros?//

It took a moment but the reply came back. //10 Spider-Men, 1 Ironman and 1 Robin in bedroom slippers.//

//Favorite of the night here: Princess-Ladybug with swim goggles. You?//

//Neighbor’s kid came as me. Complete with mustache. May have to move.//

She laughed out loud. //Picture?//

Twenty seconds later the image popped up: a long-suffering Frank holding a startled toddler in a blue onesie with a badge, hand-drawn eyebrows and wide mustache in dark marker on his chubby face.

\--oo00oo—

It rained. Hard. Briar Rose glared at the gloomy weather as she slogged her way back from her run, all too aware it meant that the Farmer’s market would be cancelled. George darted into the house and shook himself, splattering the wainscoting before loping off to his bed to groom himself for a while. Briar Rose undid her running shoes, setting them out to dry, and shrugged out of her Gore-tex jacket, feeling annoyed by this set-back.

Her phone pinged. //Gonna let me in?//

Briar Rose straightened up and yanked the door open. Frank stood there hunched down in his windbreaker, water dripping off his baseball cap.

“Come on; you’re soaked _too_. I’ll make some coffee,” she offered, trying not to let her relief show. Briar Rose felt her nervousness replace it as she darted up the two steps to the kitchen in her bare feet. She heard him taking off his coat as she hit the button on the Keurig and plucked a dark roast pod for him.

He lumbered up, George already behind him, tail wagging.

“My dog is in love with you,” Briar Rose observed with mock-mournfulness. “No fair.”

“Dog of good taste,” Frank murmured, settling into one of the kitchen chairs. She pushed dropped the coffee pod in and started the machine, not looking over at the man at the table. Absently Briar Rose pulled off the elastic at the end of her braid and undid her damp hair, running her fingers through it as it cascaded over her shoulder.

“So I’m _pretty_ sure the market’s cancelled,” She sighed. “Kind of puts the kibosh on shopping for the day unless you want to go to Food Dynasty on eighty-sixth, or La Bella . . .”

The creak of the chair told her Frank had gotten to his feet. She heard him move closer, and then the sudden warmth against her spine sent a happy shiver up it as he ever so lightly leaned against her.

He nuzzled her hair. “Orrrr . . .” Frank murmured, arms coming around to keep her between him and the counter. “There’s another alternative or two . . .”

“Ohh, the unfinished . . . conversation,” Briar Rose replied, her voice a little bit squeaky. Somewhere in her mind she knew Frank was being exceptionally gentle; that a man his size could pin her down but here he was, brushing his chin along her shoulder, keeping his touch light.

It was sweet. And thoughtful.

And making her wriggle.

“As I recall . . .” Frank began quietly, “I was trying to ask you a question when you threw yourself at me.”

Briar Rose spun, glaring at him but he was smirking at her now, right in her personal space, eyes twinkling. “I did _not_ throw myself at you!”

He gave her a mock-doubtful look. “I don’t know . . . maybe we ought to try it again . . .”

Briar Rose felt a mulish exasperation at war with sizzling hormones, and shook her head lightly, letting her waves fall around her shoulders. “You were talking about a choice,” she muttered. “Let’s get back to _that_ part.”

Frank sighed. “Right.” He reached a hand up to toy with a strand of her hair. “I didn’t realize how long it was.”

“Down like this, I can sit on it,” Briar told him. “Frank . . .”

“A choice,” he echoed heavily. “ _Your_ choice. I’m no spring chicken here; I’ve got a job that takes far too much of my time and energy; added into that a lot of family. It’s a big package, Briar Rose.”

She leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek with hers, enjoying the scent of his aftershave, considering his words and thinking carefully about what to say next. 

“What . . . am I choosing? I’m not trying to be obtuse here. Do you want me to be your . . . steady?”

He snorted at that, dimples deep. “Steady. The last time I went steady with a girl the Russians had just launched Sputnik.”

Briar Rose caught his chin, staring into his amused face. “Francis Xavier Reagan, what do you want from me?”

“More,” he murmured. “More of what we have right here. If you want it, too. I’m not . . . there have been a ship or two in nights long past,” he admitted a little sheepishly, “but this is more. This means taking on the _rest_ of the Reagans. It means being in the public eye. It means having a target on you sometimes. It means missed dates and weathering the ups and downs of our two professions and I’ve thought long and hard about it because honestly, any sane woman would run screaming from the prospect.”

Briar Rose took a breath and slipped her arms around his waist. “Well then, lucky for you I’m not sane.”

He seemed to brighten at that and she kissed him, a little teasing one that Briar Rose broke off before it got serious. “But I have some . . . stipulations.”

Frank manfully refrained from rolling his eyes and his mustache twitched a bit. “And _they_ are . . . ?”

“Um . . . I do have my own life and I like it. I’m not going to give that _up_ just because you and I are . . . canoodling.”

“Going steady? Canoodling?” Frank teased, and nuzzled her again.

“This is gonna end _real_ quick if you’re going to be like that,” Briar Rose warned him, but Frank had his hands sliding down her back to cup her hips, pulling her closer.

“You have your own life,” he dutifully repeated. “I understand that. I _respect_ that, Doctor Clowderbock. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Briar Rose murmured. “Want to see my bedroom?”

This time his grin was nearly as sweet as his kiss.

 

She worried about the scars along her hip; about how Frank would react seeing the pale, jagged slashes there against her skin. It had been a long time since Briar Rose had let anyone look at her body, and she felt skittish at the thought, but his kisses were soothing, and his hands slow.

Then when she pulled Frank’s shirt open she understood where some of his acceptance came from. Lightly Briar Rose traced the course of his old wounds through the grizzled fur on his chest, and the newer ones along his left shoulder.

“Ah,” she murmured.

He was solid, running a little heavy but more muscle than anything else, and Briar Rose toyed with the curls on his pecs. “Nice.”

He caught her, let her pull him to the thick log cabin quilt where they wound around each other, kissing with much more intensity this time as the rain rattled against the window. She ached for him, and knew Frank felt the same way; when they finally managed to lose the last of their clothing, she tossed her hair out of the way, looked down the length of his body and whimpered.  
“Definitely going to need some _ibuprofen_ later.”

He laughed low in his throat and took her in his arms, their bare skin kissing. “Shhhhhhhh.”

Briar Rose knew first times were generally awkward and messy; that in the real world lovers fumbled in learning each other’s bodies but things were simple with Frank. After kissing a while, she pulled him down onto her, knees sliding up around his hips, one hand guiding him as he thrust into her.

The sheer pleasure took her breath away and Briar Rose clutched him, long legs wrapping tightly around his hips as she moaned, her breathing ragged. “Goddddddd . . !” was all she could manage, her body rocking against his.

Frank growled a bit, his mustache scratching against her ear as he slowly thrust again, starting a sweet rhythm that was maddeningly slow as his big frame lay on hers. Every shift sent jolts of hot delight through her and Briar Rose knew it wouldn’t take long, not with heat and heft driving deep into her.

She tried not to dig her nails into him but between the haze of lust and the twist of her hips, Briar Rose wasn’t sure of anything except she wanted _more_ , and she wanted it _now_. Before she realized it, the hot flare of her orgasm seared through her lanky frame and she cried out, every muscle squeezing hard as the shudders rattled through her.

Frank groaned. She felt his orgasm, hot and thick and pulsing deep within her, sweet and primitive, his body hard and slick on hers. Briar Rose loosened her grip and stroked his bare damp back, laughing softly as he gave a gusty sigh against her shoulder.

They lay together for a while, and when the trickles became unbearable tickles, Briar Rose kissed her way across his temple, teasing the soft bristle brush of his short hair with her fingers as she smiled at him. “Hi. Thank you.”

“Briar Rose . . .” he looked wonderfully rumpled with dark tender eyes. “Succotash.”

And she giggled.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanksgiving was out of the question; Briar Rose had her own share of commitments for the holiday including dinner with her Aunt Harriet out at the assisted living center in Sheepshead Bay. She wasn’t thrilled about going there; she and her Aunt Harriet had never gotten along very well but the woman was family after all and Briar Rose understood familial duty. At least the St. Philip’s Sunday Turkey Trot would be fun; she and George were entered in the Six-legs category.

Frank wasn’t pushing . . . at least not overtly. He’d sent her flowers after their first afternoon together—a lush bouquet of roses so large that several of the nurses at the surgical wing were jealous—and Briar Rose fended off several questions, particularly from Lucas.

“Someone I should _know_ about?” he asked as they helped themselves to coffee at the little kiosk between their offices. Briar Rose gave a little shrug.

“Early days yet,” she murmured sipping her brew. 

Lucas glanced through the open door at the arrangement that covered half of her desk. “Jesus, you’ve made a hell of an _impression_ for a first date then, B-Rose.”

“Yes, I’m just a wild tigress in the sheets,” she told him with a straight face. “An insatiable nymphomaniac.”

Lucas shot her a dry look, but grinned a second later. “Always the _quiet_ ones . . . well he’s laid out a chunk of change for the posies, so _something_ went right.”

That, she thought was an understatement. On that first afternoon She and Frank hadn’t left her bedroom for most of the day, and in those intervening hours Briar Rose had discovered several new sides to the Commissioner—so to speak. Apparently Francis Xavier Reagan had a lot of stamina and a libido to match. She shouldn’t have been surprised; he did have four children after all, but his unprecedented and previously unknown capacity for sensual play amused her.

“You’re going to _kill_ me,” Briar Rose panted two Saturdays later, limp in the afterglow of a spectacular orgasm, not sure what direction was up, even though she was clinging to the showerhead mount.

“Not on purpose,” he assured her, shifting the concentrated stream from the shower hose up her body to spray between her breasts. “Murder’s still against the law. At the most it would be manslaughter, and since you consented—pretty vocally I might add—I doubt any jury would convict me.”

“I can testify you used entrapment,” Briar Rose groaned, reaching for a towel. 

“I’ll just tell them I had you held over for questioning,” he countered, turning off the water and helping to wrap her up. “So I could check a certain body of evidence.”

That made her laugh, as did some of the sweet things he told her as they curled up for a nap. Their weekend routine had shifted a little: Farmer’s Market, back to her place for lovemaking and lunch, followed by a nap before he had to leave. Briar Rose knew she was just as likely to be called in herself, so whatever time they had together was a gift.

But she held off on his invitation to Sunday dinner, arguing lightly with Frank when he brought it up. “Too soon, sweetheart,” she told him. “I’d rather meet them one at a time in a slightly less intimidating place.”

“You have a point,” he conceded. “In a group we can get a little . . . intense.”

If the rest of his family was anything like Frank, Briar Rose felt that was probably the understatement of the year, and left it at that.

\--Oo00oo—

Aunt Harriet was peevish, grumbling through the entire dinner about the Godless state of the world and how everything was going to hell in a hand basket. Briar Rose kept quiet and let her rant, knowing perfectly well that the old woman enjoyed having a captive audience for her vitriol. The other people at the dining hall tables—visitors and residents—mostly ignored them. 

Briar Rose inwardly sighed. She’d made four cherry and peach pies for the holiday, sending three with Frank for the Reagan Thanksgiving and brought one for Harriet, who’d sneered at it. “Just like your mother, never remembering I can’t stand cherry. And that crust looks underdone, too.”

Near them, a young woman visiting with her family looked up, giving Briar Rose a sympathetic glance, which she appreciated. “I’m so sorry; it slipped my mind, Aunt Harriet. Maybe you’d like some of the house pumpkin pie?”

Aunt Harriet did, and slurped it up loudly. When she was done, she looked at Briar Rose and shook her head. “Well, another holiday behind us. I know you’re just visiting me so you can inherit when I’m gone, Briar. And since there isn’t anybody else left, you will. But God’s honest truth girl, you’re not much.”

Years of similar commentary had given her a tough hide; Briar Rose gave a little shrug. “You’re probably right, Aunt Harriet.”

“I know I am. No husband, no chance of babies, and living off in that soul-less, sin-filled city with all those—“ she launched off into so many vile racial slurs that Briar Rose found herself forced to deliberately knock over a water glass to shut her up.

“Damn it!” Aunt Harriet shrieked, grabbing her cane and whacking Briar Rose on the nearest leg. “Clumsy good-for-nothing—”

“You stop that RIGHT now, Mrs. Bibbee!” A husky orderly lumbered over, catching the cane with one meaty hand. Briar Rose blinked, willing herself not to cry. Her aunt glared at the orderly, but gave up the cane without a fight.

“ _I_ think,” the orderly murmured firmly, “that it’s time for Mrs. Bibbee to go to her room for a while. Thank you for coming out to see her, Doctor. Gonna be all right to drive back?”

“I’ll be fine,” Briar Rose assured him, trying not to limp as she got up and watched the orderly gently but firmly herded a scowling Aunt Harriet out of the dining room.

Neither of them said good-bye.

Briar Rose climbed into her car and took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. Her leg hurt, although she was sure it was just a surface bruise, but her heart hurt more. Aunt Harriet had never liked her, never approved of her living an independent life and Briar Rose had never figured out why. Jealousy? Small-mindedness? Whatever it was, it had tainted their whole relationship for as long as she could remember.

She stared at her phone, wishing she had the courage to text Frank, but undoubtedly he and his loved ones were . . . enjoying themselves.

Having fun together.

Being a family.

Briar Rose drove back to Dyker Heights, making plans to numb herself for a while and forget Aunt Harriet as best she could. When she pulled into her driveway, she glanced across the street; the curb there was filled with cars in front of Lainie’s house.

“No,” Briar Rose muttered softly. “I am NOT going to feel sorry for myself. I’m going to take a long bath, roll myself a joint, and go to bed early.” Fortified by this plan, she turned and made her way up to her porch, near bumping into something there.

A huge gold box of Jacques Torres hand-made chocolates was propped against the front door along with a small paper bag next to it. When Briar Rose looked inside she saw a dried pig’s ear chew for George.

Carefully she tugged the little card from under the blue satin ribbon, reading the single word written there in bold big handwriting; nine letters that would make no sense to anyone else but the two of them.

She hugged the box tightly to herself and stepped inside.

\--oo00oo—

The Turkey Trot was at Fort Hamilton High School—specifically because their track and field was free over the holiday weekend. Briar Rose and George managed to show up in good time, mingling with the other parishioners—two and four-legged--of St. Philips Church. After receiving their numbers, Briar Rose warmed up, glad it was a sunnier day in so many ways. She’d had only eaten a few of the chocolates and had slept well, so things were already much better. George was in fine form, showing off his elegant trotting as he led the way to the starting line. Briar Rose was sure things were going to be fine, which proved to be too much temptation for fate.

The starter’s gun was far too loud. The sound of the report startled the runners and panicked several of the dogs, including George, who took off like a smoke-covered rocket, dashing off not up the track, but across the circumference of the oval and making a beeline to the far side, where one of the turnstile gates hung open. Briar Rose started after him, yelling his name, worry and fear fueling her strides. Once at the gate she looked up and down the street; a passerby at the corner helpfully pointed a direction. “Grey dog went that way!” 

Briar Rose hurried on for the next ten minutes, trying to call his name, terrified, listening for car brakes. He wasn’t always a bright dog, and even though he was well-trained he had an independent streak to him she’d tried to manage. The bruise on her leg started to throb but Briar Rose ignored it. She caught sight of a street sign which told her she was on 82nd and from her general sense of direction was heading west.

“Please,” Briar Rose chuffed, trying not to panic, “Come on back George! Georgie!!”

Her phone chimed, and she glanced at it, startled.  
//Your dog is here.//

Fumbling, she slowed, and typed back.  
//Where??//

//8070 Harbor View.//

Briar Rose checked the sign for the cross street ahead of her and turned on Harbor View, jogging now, checking the numbers on the curb and working her way up until she found herself outside a huge Colonial brick home with a white door inset on a small porch. She hurried up and pressed the doorbell, nearly jumping when the popped open and an elderly man looked up at her. 

“We got your wolf,” he grinned at her, waving her inside. “Scared the bejesus out of me too. Did _you_ train him to ring the doorbell?”

“Wait, yes, he does that but only at _our_ house . . .” Briar Rose followed the man inside and through tastefully decorated home to a wide dining room, stopping with a jolt of fear at the eight people looking back at her from around the long table.

And sitting next to Frank at the far end, looking smug as he swallowed a sliver of turkey was her dog.

Briar Rose advanced, putting her fists on her hips. “George Harrison Clowderbock I am SO ashamed of you! Get over here RIGHT NOW!”

He slunk around the edges of the dining room, curling into a hump of apologetic grey, tail ever so faintly wagging, head low as he reached her.

Briar Rose was not appeased. “First you take off and I grant you the shot was loud, but to go gallivanting off into traffic and showing up HERE of all places!”

George whined a little, and someone—a teenager near the end of the table, broke in. “He didn’t mean it; you can tell he feels really bad about it.”

“And he _did_ ring the doorbell, the old man pointed out. “So at least he was polite about interrupting. Although . . .”

“--Although I nearly pulled a gun on him,” Another man, this one with short hair and a slightly harassed look interjected. “I mean let’s be fair, having a wolf-lookalike come dashing in the house is NOT what I call normal.”

Briar Rose gave in and patted George, who immediately rolled on his back, tail wagging, paws waving in the air. The three women at the table broke into ‘awwws’ and the two teenagers laughed.  
She scratched his belly briefly, and finally, finally looked down the end of the table at the man there who was rubbing his mustache in an attempt not to grin.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” she murmured, feeling aware of all the eyes watching them, of how pink-faced she was, of how she must look in her running shorts and sweatshirt. “George and I will just . . .”

“Aw, does he have to _go_ right away?” One of the teenagers—the one with the dark hair asked. “Can’t she and her dog _stay_ , Grandpa?”

“Have you had dinner yet?” the elegant woman at Frank’s right asked, adding, “Dad, maybe you ought to make some introductions.”

“I couldn’t . . .” Briar Rose began, feeling overwhelmed, but Frank got to his feet and walked around the table, coming to stand next to her, reaching a hand down to George, who licked his fingers enthusiastically.

“This is Doctor Briar Rose Clowderbock and she’s a surgeon specializing in gyno-obstetrics,” he murmured. “She’s the one responsible for _all_ the pies.”

Smiles broke out, and Briar Rose blushed at the enthusiasm.

“Oh man, that last peach one . . .” the younger blonde man sighed. “A _ma_ zing.”

“Hey what about the cherry?” the young girl interrupted. “That crust was to _die_ for!”

“And,” Frank continued, waiting until everyone looked at him again. He gently slipped an arm around Briar Rose’s waist. “She and I are . . . going steady.”

Now Briar Rose wanted to sink through the floor; the stunned looks on everyone’s faces had her wishing she could run back out the front door and not stop until she reached Dyker Heights. Maybe not until she was back at Cherry Hollow.

For a long, lonnng moment nobody said a word until the old man broke into a hearty chuckle.  
“Going steady?” he hooted. “Going _steady_? Geeze Louise, Francis, do people even _do_ that anymore?”

“OMG, that is sooooo sweet!” the girl chortled, while the boys simply snickered.

“Ah, okay then,” the elegant woman managed, but there was a smile in her words. “That’s . . . quite an introduction.”

With that the ice was broken, and Briar Rose wasn’t sure who was asking what, and tried to remember all the names, but after Frank brought her a plate, the older man (“Call me Henry!”) tugged his place mat over to one corner of the end and motioned one of the teenagers to drag over an extra chair.

“Here,” he told her simply. “You’re gonna be next to me.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Who hit you?” His question was soft and flat.

They’d just stepped into her kitchen a few hours later, carrying a few leftovers from Sunday dinner. Briar Rose started a little and glanced at Frank, who was staring at her leg. She automatically ran a hand down the long bruise, trying to cover it up. “It wasn’t . . . just an accident.”

He raised his gaze to hold hers, expression serious. “I can _tell_ the difference between an accident and a deliberate blow, and so can all three of my children. There are going to be _questions_ when I get back, Briar Rose, and I want to be able to tell them the truth.”

She set the paper bag of leftovers down and pursed her lips. “It’s nothing. My aunt hit me with her cane. She . . .” Briar Rose fought not to get teary. “She’s old. And . . . mean. I spilled some water and she thwacked me.”

Frank’s expression went flinty, and he stepped closer. “She hit you.”

Briar Rose shrugged. “She doesn’t like me, never has. But she’s the only relative I’ve got left, so . . .”

“This is never going to happen again,” Frank told her. “Next time you visit her, I’m going too. Nobody has the right to do this to you.”

She gave him a wavery smile, sliding into his embrace. “Oh I won’t be seeing her for a long time, trust me.”

“Good,” Frank murmured against the crown of her head. “I was . . . worried.”

She knew from the tightness of his hug that his remark was an understatement, and the depth of emotion under it ran deep. Briar Rose sighed and hugged him back.

“Everyone has family. Not everybody has _good_ family, Frank.”

He said nothing, but sighed.

\--oo00oo—

Christmas meant attending the midnight service at St. Philips, and then working a quiet holiday shift at the hospital. Briar Rose had been taking the Christmas morning shift for years even after other people had offered to do it. She didn’t mind, usually—visiting the maternity ward was sweet, and it meant a chance to catch up with paperwork and scheduling without too many interruptions. 

She would visit with Lainie and her family on Christmas Day Eve, bringing over dinner every other year, and then take George for a last long walk before turning in. Very quiet, very sedate—a single woman’s holiday.

Naturally that was _not_ going to happen this year, Briar Rose realized with dismay and loving exasperation. Apparently the Reagans had decided that since she and Frank were going steady that she was now a “Reagan-by-association”, which amused her beloved to no end.

//That includes the dog, by the way,// Frank texted her. //You and George are a set.//

She rolled her eyes. //Sean’s all but adopted George//

//True.// Frank agreed. //No Saturday this week, but you’re coming to Sunday dinner?//

Briar Rose thought it was adorable how Frank actually used proper sentences and punctuation in his texts. //What should I bring?//

//Erin’s making pot roast. If you wanted to do a dessert I doubt anyone will object.//

Briar Rose mentally flipped through recipes in her head and nodded. //all right. Something OTHER than pie then//

//Let’s not be _too_ hasty,// came the objection, followed by //Must go; work calls. Succotash.//

She typed it back, refraining from adding any emojis, thank you, and then let Sarah her appointment nurse know she was ready for the next patient. For the rest of the day Briar Rose focused on her caseload, and only headed out once the streetlights outside the hospital came on.

The first blue of twilight gleamed on the distant water, and Briar Rose took a moment to look towards Manhattan, noting the first holiday lights of the season. Soon they’d be everywhere, including some of the streets around her neighborhood. Dyker Heights was a tourist attraction during Christmas, and while most of the time that was fine every now and then it was a nuisance with parking being the big issue. 

It also meant the Union Square holiday market would be starting, and she froze in realization.

Present. She’d have to get Frank a present.

And probably presents for ALL the Reagans.

“Oh,” she gulped, pulling her coat around her a little more tightly. “Ohhhh shit.”

It wasn’t that she couldn’t; she made enough to be able to handle that many. No the issue was she didn’t know them well enough, didn’t have a clue about likes and dislikes and who already had what, or needed what. Not that Briar Rose knew what to get Frank either—everything was still new and finding just the right gift would take time.

Climbing in the car, she fretted for a moment, wondering what she’d gotten herself into—from zero to nine plus in a matter of five months.

“Even _pregnancies_ are longer,” she grumbled to herself as she started the engine.

\--oo00oo—

Dinner was . . . a minefield, Briar Rose decided. She’d shown up with George and dessert, determined to be polite and quiet; the perfect dinner guest. Everything before the grace was lovely, but the minute ‘amen’ echoed around the table, she found herself under questioning by four Reagans for whom interrogation was clearly their primary form of entertainment.

“So,” Danny asked her. “What kind of name is Briar Rose anyway?”

“You can’t ask her _that_ ; it’s rude,” Erin chided and turned to her. “What made you decide on gynecology as a career?”

“Please, we’re _eating_ here!” Jamie objected, making a face. “Start with something nicer, like say, how did you and Dad meet?”

“What _I_ want to know is what kind of dog is George anyway?” Henry interjected.

Briar Rose took a deep breath and looked around the table. “My mother’s favorite fairy tale was Sleeping Beauty,” she told Danny. To Erin she murmured, “My father was a doctor, and he worked in tandem with a midwife in Cherry Hollow so I sort of followed in the family footsteps.” To Jamie she responded, “Your father and I shared an elevator at the Four Seasons, and ended up at a crime scene together.” When she finally faced Henry she added, “He’s a Borzoi, a gift from a patient of mine. He’s not show quality because he’s got the wrong color nose.”

“The wrong color nose?” Henry echoed.

“Breed standard is black and George has pink spots on his,” Briar Rose pointed out. At the mention of his name, George came over and laid his head on her lap, clearly hoping for a treat.

“Does he do tricks?” Sean wanted to know. 

“Not at the table,” Frank finally murmured. “Pass the potatoes please.”

Briar Rose shot him a grateful look and tried to get back to her dinner but apparently round two began.

“Have you ever been married?” Danny asked. A quick disapproving hush fell over the table and he looked around defensively. “What? We were _all_ wondering it.”

“I was engaged a long time ago but . . .” she sighed, “he died. And then I was almost engaged but I don’t think it counted, so . . . no. I don’t think I’ll _ever_ get married.”

That seemed to shock them all into momentary silence and Briar Rose worried she’d offended them with her bluntness.

“Soooo I guess that means you don’t have any kids,” Nicky observed, adding, “it’s a _joke_ , okay?” when a few other Reagans glanced at her.

“Actually . . . I’ve got nearly three hundred and sixty,” Briar Rose smiled. “Twenty-seven sets of twins, three sets of triplets and three hundred singles.”

Sean looked up briefly from his pot roast. “Man, the photo section in your wallet’s gotta be _huge_!”

That broke everyone up, and Briar Rose noticed even Frank smiled a little. It was easier to eat after that since the focus shifted elsewhere for a while. She studied them as she listened, getting a sense of Frank’s family and the dynamics going on around her through the meal. It fascinated her that each Reagan had some aspect of Frank that shone through, whether it was coloring, or temperament or personality trait. 

And clearly they were well-versed in arguing, albeit politely at the moment.  
Briar Rose wondered when she would be drawn into the conversation again and didn’t have to wait long.

“So what do _you_ think of guns?” Danny glanced at her in a slightly challenging way. She sensed his brusqueness was part of his personality and finished her mouthful before she spoke up.

“For hunting they’re fine. I’m not thrilled with people using them on each other but that’s my OR experiences coloring my perspective. However, I still have my father’s ten gauge and my granny’s Greener in storage.”

“Do you shoot?”

She wanted to laugh. “Young man, I grew up in hill country; of _course_ I can shoot. I can field dress a deer, skin squirrels, pluck pheasants and stew up just about any wild game you can name, including rattlesnakes which really _do_ taste like chicken.”

“Rattlesnake?” Sean made a face. “Ew.”

Henry grinned at Briar Rose. “Okay now _I_ want to go steady with her.”

She glanced down the length of the table at Frank, who gave her a fond and slightly possessive gaze. “Sorry, I have dibs," he murmured.

\--oo00oo—

The bread pudding with hard sauce was enthusiastically received, earning Briar Rose the title of ‘dessert queen’ according to Nicky and Sean. Then after the dishes, bit by bit the Reagans dispersed in groups of two or more leaving her with Frank, Henry, and George. 

“I think we ought to walk the dog before you go,” Frank told her. “Don’t you?”

That sounded a little suspicious, but Briar Rose agreed, wondering what he was up to. She pulled on her heavy sweater, put George on a leash and followed Frank out the front door into the chill of the night. The night was clear but there was the smell of wood smoke in the air, and she was grateful when he slipped an arm around her as they strode along.

“I didn’t know you were engaged,” Frank murmured in his low, quiet way.

Briar Rose drew in a breath, sepia-toned memories flickering through her mind. “John Pellman. We were in high school together—he was two years above me. Got his draft notice and so the night before he left, we . . . well. He gave me a ring and I promised I’d wait for him.”

“He . . . didn’t come back,” Frank guessed.

“Not alive, no,” Briar Rose sighed softly. “I cried for a year at least. Then I pulled myself together and applied to medical schools.”

“Sometimes the only way is forward,” Frank murmured. “Even when it’s the _last_ direction you want to go.”

She nodded. “Just so. I worry that your children . . . well, that they think I’m going to . . .”

“Replace Mary Margaret?” Frank finished for her thoughtfully. “They’d be wrong. You’re . . . wonderfully, uniquely _you_ , Briar Rose. A person in your own right, and nobody’s stand-in.”

That warmed her, and she blinked a little, snuggling closer to him. George stopped to sniff a tree trunk.

“Thank you,” Briar Rose told him. “I just hope they understood that I meant what I said about marriage.”

“About that,” Frank began and then stopped. She busied herself with tugging George, who reluctantly came away from the tree.

“There is no ‘about that’,” Briar Rose murmured quietly. “Frank, you’re still wearing your wedding ring. What I feel for you is amazing and wonderful and still very, very . . . new. It’s good right now and I’m _happy in this moment_ , all right?”

He looked at her and nodded, reluctantly. Briar Rose sensed he wanted to say more, but some small inner part of her didn’t want to hear it, so she tipped her face up to him and smiled. “I wish there was some mistletoe around here.”

“Is that a hint?” he rumbled.

“Yes.”

His mustache tickled but Briar Rose didn’t care because Frank’s kiss took her breath away. She clung to him, giddy and pleased, delighted to see him smile back at her.

“All right,” Frank nodded. “If that’s what makes you happy in this moment. I just . . . reserve the right to revisit a few things down the road.”

“Fair enough,” Briar Rose agreed. “Although if it doesn’t work out for us, I could always date your _father_.”

“Over my dead body, which would be a climb even with _your_ legs,” Frank grumbled. “Besides, I clearly called dibs and I think as the Reagan patriarch that should be respected.”

Briar Rose laughed and kissed his chin.


	8. Chapter 8

The first snow snarled traffic and caused the usual chaos throughout the city but Briar Rose reveled in it. George loved it too, romping through the drifts like a puppy and getting soaked in the process. The Farmer’s market put up heavier tents and had heaters along the main pathway now, along with extra stalls of holiday specialties and even musicians who played carols for tips. It was much more crowded though, and with that came the knowledge that someone would recognize her companion eventually. 

Someone did.

A beautiful dark-haired woman with brick red angora shawl and high-heeled boots came sailing over as Briar Rose tried to figure out which heads of cauliflower looked best. She glanced up as the woman made a beeline for Frank, her smile faintly flirtatious.

“Well, well. Not your _usual_ beat, is it?” came her throaty remark.

Briar Rose tried not to stiffen. There was something in that tone, something more than just a greeting and it took all her willpower not to react.

She wanted to look at Frank, but if he met her gaze he’d know exactly what she was feeling, so Briar Rose kept examining cauliflower, turning the heads over in her mittened fingers.

“Nor _yours_ ,” Frank replied to the woman in a mild tone. “Looking for vegetables?”

“Among other things,” the woman responded, stepping close enough for Briar Rose to get a whiff of expensive perfume. “Seriously, _you_ at a Farmer’s market, Commissioner?”

“I take my potatoes _seriously_ ,” he murmured, and turned to Briar Rose. “And cauliflower, when I must.”

The woman turned, and Briar Rose felt the full force of her gaze land on her, taking her in from her pink cheeks and long braid to her old northwest snow boots. The woman said nothing for a few seconds and then smiled, automatically, holding out a hand. “I’m Kelly Peterson, a former . . . associate of Frank’s.”

Briar Rose awkwardly juggled the cauliflower until Frank plucked it from her hands; she pressed hers against Kelly’s gloved one. “Briar Rose Clowderbock. I’m his . . . vegetable consultant.”

Kelly’s eyebrows went up at this, and Briar Rose wanted to bite her own tongue for such a facetious remark but it was the first thing that popped out. Next to her Frank coughed suspiciously; she suspected he was trying not to laugh.

“That’s a _new_ one,” Kelly finally admitted. “Asparagus advice? Cabbage counseling?”

“The negotiations are ongoing and never-ending,” Frank replied. “Although the good doctor here is nothing if not persuasive.”

“Clowderbock . . . now why is that name _familiar_?” Kelly mused. “What hospital do you work at?”

“NYU Langone,” Briar Rose admitted. “But I’m sure--”

“The Wisocki case!” Kelly broke in, eyes wide. “ _You_ led the team that did the ovary transplant on Suzette Wisocki!”

Briar Rose blushed. “That was years ago; I’m surprised anyone _remembers_ it.” The surgery had been a ten-hour procedure, delicate and slow, high-risk, but ultimately successful and one of the highlights of her career.

Kelly was looking at her with respect now, a smile tipping the corners of her mouth. “ _I_ do. Suzette and her twin Sandra are my cousins. Thanks to you I’ve got godchildren from _both_ of them now.”

“Oh,” Briar Rose beamed. “Oh gracious! I’m so glad for all of you. So glad!”

“We are too,” Kelly replied. “ _Very_ glad.” She turned to Frank and pointed a warning finger at him. “This doctor knows her stuff—do what she _tells_ you . . . at least about vegetables.”

Frank held up his hands in a placating gesture of surrender. “Agreed.”

“Good,” Kelly murmured. She gave the two of them a last long gaze and shouldered her purse, her smile gracious even if her eyes were a little sad. “Well, places to go . . . good meeting you, Doctor. Frank . . .”

She turned and strode away, melding into the crowds between the stalls. Briar Rose watched Frank as he watched Kelly go, and she felt a pang of uncertainty. He was a handsome man, and she knew she wasn’t the only woman who knew it, or responded to it.

Then he turned to catch her gaze, his own far too perceptive. “Kelly Peterson's a good woman. Not the _right_ woman, but a good woman.”

“I’m _not_ a good woman,” Briar Rose countered, trying to stay light. “After all, I’m going to make you eat cauliflower.”

Frank pursed his mouth, which made his mustache bristle. “That makes you the _right_ woman, although my digestive system may argue the point later.”

\--oo00oo—

The snow started falling harder as they drove back from the Farmer’s Market and by the time they’d made it into her house it was coming down thick and fast. Briar Rose yawned; she’d stayed late at the hospital on Friday and the lag was catching up to her as she set the cauliflower heads to steam on the stove.

Frank made coffee and brought her a cup, with just the right amount of cream and sugar, and steered her out to the living room, pulling her to rest up against him on the sofa there. It was a huge bottle green Victorian monstrosity, long enough to accommodate her and Frank and George in fact, without any of them feeling crowded. Gratefully she rested her head along his collarbone, glad of his warmth.

“Thought about what you said,” Frank began without any preamble.

Briar Rose tried to think back to what might have required a discussion but the sleepiness wasn’t helping. “Okay. Good. Mmm, what _was_ it I said?”

In response, Frank brought his left hand up, resting it in her lap, his thumb toying with the gold band on his finger. Briar Rose looked at it. “Oh.” She reached out to pat his fingers, but Frank caught her hand in his much bigger one.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, very softly. “I . . . need to know.”

Briar Rose shifted to look up at him, taking her time before answering. “That’s . . . a hard one to answer,” she admitted to him. “It really is. I mean a part of me is deeply moved by how much you loved Mary Margaret, and how seriously you took your commitment to her and your marriage. I look at that ring and I know it’s a symbol of a very dear sacrament between the two of you. I respect what it _means_ , Frank.”

And she did. Her own parents had had a good marriage; she’d seen couples all her life who had a special joy in their unions. Instead of relaxing though, Frank seemed tenser with her reply and she bought time by taking a sip of her coffee.

“Until death do us part,” he sighed. “I always thought it would be _me_. Told her on a regular basis that if I died in the line of duty that she should remarry. No guilt, no doubt or second thoughts. That a woman as wonderful as she was should find someone else to make as happy as she always made me.”

It hurt to hear the deep pain in his voice, the thread of grief through his words. Briar Rose took a slow breath, not wanting to interrupt Frank, especially as his fingers stroked hers while he spoke.

“But it _wasn’t_ me. And in those last days . . . she turned my own words _back_ on me. She made me . . . promise. Naturally I couldn’t handle it, not on top of her impending death. The entire idea seemed absurd, and in the aftermath I . . . ignored the pledge I’d made on her deathbed. Grief shuts down the libido, and mutes the needs of the body.”

Briar Rose made a soft little sound of understanding, feeling some of the tension loosen. She wondered if he’d ever talked to anyone about his wife, and suspected the only people who knew his true feelings had to be his father and his Father.

“Things were like that for a long time. I learned to do my own laundry and ironing and cooking. I learned to sleep alone, and got on with things. Family helped, of course. And work. You can’t wallow long when people need you.”

“True,” Briar Rose agreed. “Very true.”

He stopped talking for a little while, just holding her. Briar Rose tried not to let her drowsiness overcome her but it was difficult because she was comfortable and warm.

Frank kissed the top of her head and sighed. “And the years went on and I did too. The pain faded into numbness and then a sort of well-worn place inside of me. I loved Mary Margaret. A part of me always will.”

“As you should,” Briar Rose agreed quietly. “We don’t _stop_ loving people even after they’re gone. They’re still a part of us.”

“Mmm,” came his acknowledgement. “But through all that time I wore the ring she gave me. At first because it felt like the only tangible thing I _had_ from her. The touchstone to our marriage. And later . . . I realized it was . . . a deterrent. It kept the few women who might have become more to me at bay. It . . .” his voice dropped even lower, “was a cowardly way to use it.”

Startled, Briar Rose squeezed his hand. “Nobody believes that!”

“I do, because it’s true,” Frank countered. “This band did all the work of saying no so I didn’t have to. Made my life easier I suppose until . . .”

“Until?”

“Until I met you,” Frank grumbled. “You with your potato-bartering, pie-making, cannabis-smoking ways. AND you had a dog the size of Flatbush. After a while I realized I didn’t want to say no. And then I realized I _couldn’t_ say no. Especially after . . .” he stopped abruptly, and Briar Rose saw him look embarrassed.

“After?” she prompted again. Everything he’d said so far had her feeling a new lightness inside. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. She kept looking at him until Frank drew his brows together. “I had a dream,” he admitted, very slowly.

“A dream,” Briar Rose echoed, feeling an impish anticipation.

“Yes.”

“What _sort_ of a dream?”

“I think you know very _well_ what sort of dream,” Frank replied balefully. “Not the sort you talk about at breakfast. Not the sort you bring up in casual conversation. No it was the sort that you mutter about in Confession and hope the Father doesn’t ask for details.”

“Francis Xavier Reagan!” she spluttered into giggles. “You had an _erotic_ dream about me?”

He turned a long-suffering look at her. “Maybe Saint Jerome had the right idea about beating himself with a rock to avoid temptation.”

“Maybe if he’d beat something else _without_ a rock the whole issue would have resolved itself,” Briar Rose shot back, grinning. “So you lusted for me. I’m flattered!”

“It wasn’t _just_ lust, although that was an impressive portion of the dream,” Frank admitted. “The point is, I took it as a sign that maybe it was time to move on. And luckily you were receptive to that and I’m blessed for it in more ways than I can count.”

She blinked, not wanting to tear up but the sweetness of his words hit her hard right in the stomach. “Really?”

“Really,” he assured her, bringing her hand up and kissing it, the brush of his mustache tickling the tendons on the back. It was both endearingly old-fashioned and sexy, Briar Rose thought, so she shifted to kiss him in return.

Things started to get more interesting with each kiss but before Briar Rose could suggest moving matters into the bedroom, Frank caught her long thin hands, holding them in his own, forcing her to look at him in the semi-darkness of the snowy afternoon light.

“Help me,” he murmured.

With care she did, twisting the gold band from his finger, but it took Frank’s strength to slip it off to drop into his palm, catching a little of the fading light and gleaming.

Briar Rose folded both her hands around his, cupping her fingers protectively around his fist. She bent her head and closed her eyes.

“Thank you, Mary Margaret. I’ll . . . take good care of him,” she murmured, her face wet. “I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

It became clear in the next hour that most of Five Boroughs were snowbound, and after several phone calls, Frank finally turned to Briar Rose, who was setting the finished cauliflower casserole in the refrigerator.

“Erin and Nicky are with Dad, so he’ll be fine; Danny and the boys are holing up at their place, as are Jamie and Eddie at theirs so that takes care of family. As for the city, the plows are assigned to priority routes for hospitals, fire stations and precincts, so we won’t be seeing them around here for a while.”

Briar Rose shot him a mock-innocent look. “This means . . . our first sleepover. And you didn’t bring any pajamas.”

The look Frank returned was accompanied by a quick waggle of eyebrows. “I’m sure I can find some way to keep me warm.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, snickering. “So. It’s nearly three now, and I have no idea what to make for dinner. I have laundry to take care of and I should probably answer a few Christmas cards while I can.”

“I’ll make dinner,” Frank offered. “If you give me freedom to look around in your freezer and cabinets.”

“Deal,” Briar Rose nodded. “Although I’m saving the smoked salmon for breakfast next week.”

For the next few hours they puttered around, not often in the same room, but Briar Rose always knew exactly where Frank and George were, and it felt strange. Nice, of course because she adored both of them, but also a little unnerving. They had a routine. She’d lived alone a long time, and this was going out of her comfort zone as tainted memories began to nibble at the edges of her thoughts.

Frank knew that she’d lived with someone years before; Briar Rose had mentioned it a few times but never referred to him by name if she could help it, preferring to let go of that part of her life as best she could, and Frank never pushed. Unfortunately, now she found herself fretting, which was a bad sign.

“It’s not like he’s moving _in_ ,” she muttered to herself as she folded laundry in the guest room. “Not like he’s taking advantage of you—for Pete’s sake there’s a blizzard going on!”

Still the irritation persisted, and she rushed through the clothing before stomping to the kitchen. “I’m going to take George for a walk,” she announced. “We’ll be back.”

Frank looked up from the kitchen table where he was doing something interesting with tomatoes. “Are you _sure_ you want to do that?”

“Yes I’m sure!” Briar Rose snapped, and hooked her fingers into George’s collar. “Come on, Fuzzyboy.”

She bundled up and got the leash on a very reluctant George before opening the door into a face-full of white flakes. George gave a timid wag of his tail but didn’t move so Briar Rose tugged on the leash and managed to get him down the steps to the thick coating on the sidewalk. The chill hit her, cooling some of her temper and Briar Rose sighed, glancing up at the kitchen window.

Frank was not looking out of it, which helped. If he had, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted. Reaching down, she patted George with one gloved hand. “Sorry George. Let’s make this short, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

George shook his head and gave a little resigned sigh, leading the way down 85th in the flurry of flakes, determined to get his business done ASAP.

Ten minutes later they made it down to the corner of 12th, but the wind gusts were making it hard for Briar Rose to keep on her feet, and George had managed to pee so they headed back, wind pushing them along. Most of the houses had Christmas lights up already and seeing them helped soothe her a bit too, so by the time she and George arrived home her mood had improved. She dried him off and praised him, receiving some loving chin licks before he loped up the two stairs to the kitchen.

Briar Rose followed behind, ruefully aware of a need to apologize. Frank was at the kitchen table, staring at his cell phone. He glanced up at her patiently before setting it face down on the table.

“Sorry for snapping,” she murmured, taking a seat opposite from him. “That was . . . rude.”

Frank cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Who said anything’s wrong?” she tried to smile at him. “Everything’s fine.”

“If everything was _fine_ , we wouldn’t be facing off across this table,” Frank pointed out patiently. “If I said or did something wrong you need to tell me. It’s . . . important.”

Briar Rose crossed her arms and took a deep breath, feeling a surge of panic rising in her that she wanted to squash down. “You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetheart. Really. It’s just . . . me. I’m kind of overreacting here, and I need to get over it.”

Frank continued to look at her, his gaze through his round glasses somehow endearing and intimidating all at once. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, pushing the frame up as he did so. “I’m making you uncomfortable by being here,” he murmured.

Startled at his insight, Briar Rose glanced up guiltily and finally sighed. “Damn it. Frank . . . this is hard. You have to understand I’ve been on my own for years. A lot of years. I’m used to having my own space and it just sort of hit me that I’m sharing it, and that gets me nervous because of last time . . .”

“Last time?”

Briar Rose sighed, resting her forearms on the table, looking down at her hands because it was easier than looking at Frank. “Okay, _this_ is what happened. I was living with someone. Wendell.”

It was hard to say his name but she forced herself. “Wendell Chun. He was a mortgage broker for JP Morgan. We met, and hit it off, and in the course of things we . . . moved in together. We shared a loft in Greenwich Village, and had all sorts of plans for the future. I was just starting out at New York Presbyterian, junior surgeon and doing a good job.”

Briar Rose stopped, and peeked up at Frank. He had his elbows on the table, hands clasped as he listened. His whole focus was on her, and she blushed at how damned reassuring that was. She continued.

“One of those plans was children. We both wanted to be parents. He was getting pressured by his family, who were first generation immigrants from Beijing. They weren’t thrilled about me, but grand-kids would have gone a long way in smoothing that over.”

He nodded, still not saying anything, and taking courage from that, Briar Rose reached out; one of his hand was around hers instantly, and the warmth of it felt good. She swallowed.

“So we were trying. Then I had the accident. Lot of surgery, and you know what the end result was. Wendell kept assuring me it didn’t matter, that he loved me, that he’d nurse me back to health and we’d adopt. Said all the right things, was there nearly every day. I spent nearly three weeks in the hospital. I had to fight to get discharged that early, but I was stubborn. I waited for Wendell to come pick me up, but it got late and I figured he was stuck in traffic. So I got a taxi home. I was in a lot of pain at that point, really needed to lie down. And when I hobbled in . . . he’d moved out. Gone. Not _one_ thing of his was left in the loft.”

A flat, hard “fuck,” rumbled out of Frank. His other hand came up to grip hers, engulfing her cold fingers. “Briar Rose--”

She shook her head hard, willing herself not to cry. “Stop. I got through it. Remember when you told me that forward was sometimes the last direction you want to go? Well that fit. I did. I got through it. I didn’t try to find him, or demand an explanation. When I was well enough, I interviewed at NYU Langone and put everything I had into the work. Moved to Dyker Heights and put it all behind me. I HAD to. And I got used to being on my own. The way you did after Mary Margaret.”

“It’s not quite the same,” he pointed out, his voice heavy. “I knew what was coming. I had memories to buoy me up. I had family.”

“And I’m glad you did,” Briar Rose managed a smile. “But . . . it’s hard. You and me together for a few hours on a Saturday is fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing. Longer than that is going to take some time for me, though. Especially . . .”

“In your space,” Frank finished. He glanced out the window. “Do you want me to go?”

“Oh good lord NO!” Briar Rose objected, fingers tightening around his. “Even if it was a sunny beautiful day no, I wouldn’t want you to go!”

“Good. Because I don’t think I could _do_ it, even if it was possible,” Frank replied with a faint smile of his own. “For more reasons than one. First of all, thank you. Thank you for telling me this, sweetheart. It . . . explains a lot.”

She shrugged. “A little, yes. But I also feel like an idiot because it’s not relevant to now, not relevant to us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You and I are . . . creatures of habit,” Frank pointed out quietly. “Neither one of us likes change, even though we’re both in vocations that exist solely on change. What we do is put things back to normal. And in the matter of our hearts, that takes some . . . work. Mostly because we’re not used to it. We didn’t expect to find each other and yet . . .”

“And yet here we are,” Briar Rose finished for him, smiling. They gazed at each other for a long sweet moment, simply savoring the sight of each other.

“So. When’s dinner? What’s dinner?” She finally asked.

“It’s warming in the oven and it’s a Puttanesca with black olives and most of your Parmesan. It’s ready anytime.”

Briar Rose got out of her chair and came around to Frank, kissing the top of his head as his arms encircled her waist. “Let’s . . . have it in a while, then.”

*** 

This time was different. Prior to this, things had been . . . playful. They’d teased each other, had learned their ticklish places and sated desires together with a gentle touch and tenderness, but this time . . .

Frank took his glasses off, setting them aside, and gently undressed her, pulling her hair free from the hair sticks and letting it tumble loose. He slowly peeled her out of the layers she had on, gently resisting her attempts to do the same for him as he did so. Briar Rose let him, feeling both self-conscious and shy, wondering what on earth he was doing. When she was naked, she tried to curl up on the bed, but Frank leaned over her, brushing that damned mustache from her shoulder to the hollow between her collarbones, kissing lightly between her breasts and working his way down.

“Everything about you is worthy of being loved, my Briar Rose,” he whispered against her skin. “Despite what you think, every inch of you is beautiful to me.”

Those were the perfect words. Briar Rose shivered, reaching for him but Frank was pressing his lips to the scars on her belly and hip, kissing them with utmost gentleness, his big hands stroking her skin. It was too much and she felt the tears well up, but instead of giving in to them, Briar Rose pulled at Frank’s clothing, undressing him with far less finesse but no less desire. She wrapped herself around him, kissing his scars in return, breathing in the heat of his skin, losing herself in it, feeling naked to the bone.

When neither of them could hold out any longer, Briar Rose gently pushed Frank on his back and straddled him, letting her long hair cascade down to his grizzled chest along with her tears.


	10. Chapter 10

Eating pasta at midnight was novel, Briar Rose thought, as was doing it in the nude with Frank. He sat at her kitchen table without a stitch of clothing, matter-of-factly loading up a plate for her as George kept careful watch nearby, waiting for anything that spilled.

“It’s a good thing the curtains are closed!” she giggled, accepting the plate and smirking at him.

“Agreed,” Frank murmured, opening the wine. “But a little . . . spontaneity is a good thing now and then.”

“Nobody would ever _believe_ us,” she pointed out, blushing. “Certainly not your _children_.”

“My children don’t need to _know_ ,” Frank replied dryly. “Nor my dad or really, anyone else at this point. We’re au naturale, about to enjoy a meal al dente and it’s just between us.”

Briar Rose smiled. To her way of thinking Frank looked as comfortable with his furry chest exposed as he did in any shirt or sweater, and part of her knew it was his way of reminding her how little he cared about scars or wrinkles—hers or his own. She flicked her hair back over her shoulders, glad at least that the heater was working.

“There used to be a nudist colony about twenty miles north of Cherry Hollow,” she told Frank as she coiled pasta on her fork. “Some sort of hush-hush hippie commune that people used to gossip about. Some of the boys in my high school were always talking about going out to spy on it.”

“Boys will forever be hormonally charged,” he murmured, flashing her a quick smile. “None of the girls were interested, I take it?”

“Not really. Turns out it had closed years earlier and only the sign was left. It was called Big Bare Woods.”

He chuckled at that, and Briar Rose toasted him with her wine before settling in to enjoy the food. They’d nearly made it through the meal when suddenly the power went out. George gave a little ‘whuff’ under the table and Briar Rose sighed.

“Should have expected this I guess,” Frank grumbled.

“Does this mean you have to—“ she began and his phone chimed, interrupting her.

He answered it, speaking in short terse questions as Briar Rose did her best not to listen in. Knowing her own house as she did, she was able to move around in the dark and find one of the fat holiday candles in a few minutes, lighting it and bringing it back to the table.

“City logistics,” Frank told her when he finished his call. “Priorities shift when the power goes out and right now there are some very unhappy people at LaGuardia. I need to authorize some extra manpower in Manhattan as well; snow and loss of power is a guarantee we’ll have an uptick in burglaries and looting before morning.”

Briar Rose sighed. “You have to go.” It wasn’t a question.

“I have to go,” Frank agreed. “My ride should be here within the hour.”

She cleared the table as he went to dress; by the time he’d returned Briar Rose had pulled on her terry robe and had a thermos of coffee waiting for him.  
“About dinner . . .” she murmured, thinking of the cauliflower casserole, but Frank kissed her forehead, his mustache tickling it.

“Still on for the moment. I may doze through it, but unless we get more snow or the power stays off, we’ll have it. Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

Rose would have asked more, but they both heard the rumble of a police Yukon XL cutting through the quiet of the dark street. She gave him a kiss and waved him down the stairs to the front door, watching him step out and close it behind him without looking back.

Once she was in the kitchen, she risked a peek out the window and watched as Frank pointed back to her house with his chin. The young officer nodded, squaring his shoulders as he did so. Briar Rose bit her lip, not sure, but suspecting that her address had just been added to someone’s priority list.

She headed back to bed, and to sheets that still carried the scent of warm love, dropping off to sleep after a little while.

\--oo00oo—

The plows were out in record time, and the glare of sun on the mounds of snow was blinding throughout the day. In the late afternoon, Briar Rose pulled up to the home on Harbor Terrace, feeling a little achy but pleased: she had not only the cauliflower casserole, but also her grandmother’s hummingbird cake with her. George’s tail thumped happily as he lay across the back seat in his harness, ready to move the minute she parked.

“Be good,” she chided him as she let him out and then picked up the two tote bags.

At the door Henry greeted her and George affectionately. “So you two survived the one-day blizzard! Glad you could make it!” He took the casserole from her while Briar Rose undid George’s leash; he darted inside and she followed, carrying the cake.

In the kitchen, Erin was setting three glazed pork loins to cool on the counter. She smiled at Rose. “Hey! What delicious offerings did you bring today?”

Briar Rose showed her, setting them down and out of George’s possible reach. “A side dish and dessert. I hope nobody’s allergic to pecans.”

“Nope—those look great!” Erin assured her. She shot Briar Rose a sidelong glance. “So . . . I guess you and dad were, ah, snowed _in_ together?”

Briar Rose fought a blush. “Yes. He was nice enough to make dinner for me though. I didn’t realize he could cook.”

Erin laughed lightly and Briar Rose could see she was fighting her own embarrassment. “Yeah, he’s got his favorites locked down, pretty traditional stuff as you probably know.”

“I had a hint when I heard the way he talked about potatoes,” Briar Rose agreed. “Is that an Irish thing or a Frank Reagan thing?”

“Both, Erin rolled her eyes playfully. “He’s got spuds in the blood.”

They were joined by Danny, who brought in a huge bowl of greens, a paper bag under his arm. “Salad’s here. Hi B-Rose. See you got through the drifts too, huh?”

She took the bowl from him as he unpacked the salad dressings setting them on the counter. “Never thought I’d need four-wheel drive in Brooklyn.”

“Never say never,” he replied. “Whoa! Nice cake!”

“That’s my grandmother’s hummingbird cake,” she informed him, taking in the dark smudges under his eyes and the stress lines around his mouth. “Long night?”

He shot her a quick, direct look and gave a little nod. “Yeah. So . . . it’s got _hummingbirds_ in it?”

“No, just pineapple and banana,” Briar Rose responded lightly. “I’m not sure why it’s called a hummingbird cake but it is. Tastes pretty good.”

He managed a genuine smile, all the nicer for its rarity. “Looking forward to it.”

It was a good thing the kitchen was big; more Reagans came through to collect the silverware, open the wine and count out the plates. Briar Rose made it a point to stay out of the way, finally moving to the end of the island, watching everyone in their well-coordinated pre-dinner routine, which was as smooth as the backstage of a Broadway show, she thought with amusement.

Once everyone was at the table though, Briar Rose was startled to find everyone looking from Frank to her, clearly waiting. Frank didn’t help by giving her a gentle smile and a nod. “As our guest I think it would be nice if _you_ said grace for us,” he murmured.

On the spot, Briar Rose froze for a second, and then reached out on either side of her. Neither Henry nor Nicky was expecting it, but they took her hands and the rest of the Reagans followed, a little out of their comfort zone but not saying anything.

Briar Rose took a breath. “Um . . . _Benedicite, Dominus, nos et ea quae sumus sumpturi benedicat dextera Christi._ Amen.”

Instantly she felt a squeeze to her right hand, and looking over she saw Henry grinning at her.

“Old school,” he murmured approvingly. “Nice!”

“Wow,” Nicky agreed. “Are you Catholic?”

“No,” Briar Rose admitted. “But I did spend a year doing clinical work at a hospital run by the Franciscan Sisters of Mary.”

Everyone nodded, and after a moment, began passing food around the table. Briar Rose caught a glimpse of Frank looking smug at the head of the table and promised herself a moment to chide him for putting her on the spot like that. 

Luckily the conversation turned to Christmas, and everyone’s plans around the same. She listened to them talk about attending the midnight Mass at St. Andrew the Apostle, and later the Christmas Brunch where apparently opening presents seemed to take a few hours.

“It’s crazy,” Nicky confessed to her. “We all take turns so it lasts like, all afternoon. And by the end everyone’s ready for a nap.”

“Some of us nap _through_ it,” Jamie admitted, grinning. “Especially if the turkey at brunch was good.”

“And some of us better _not_ get any more aftershave,” Danny grumbled, waving a fork. “Three years in a row is enough; I smell just _fine_ , thanks.”

“Eh the jury’s still out,” Erin murmured, not looking at him as she grinned.

“Socks,” Danny warned. “ _Ugly_ socks. Believe me, I know plenty of places to get ‘em.”

“Yeah we know; we’ve seen what you _wear_.” Jamie replied, earning an exasperated grin from his brother.

“Hey, don’t make me _sock_ all of you this Christmas!”

Briar Rose smirked as did most of the Reagans; Frank glanced around to restore order. “Is there any more casserole?”

“So . . . you’re coming, right?” Henry wanted to know, looking at her. 

She passed the dish and gave a little shrug. “Usually I go to the midnight service at Saint Philips over on eightieth and then take the Christmas morning shift at the hospital.”

Sean made a sound of disappointment. “Really? Do you have to?”

“No, I don’t _have_ to,” Briar Rose murmured, feeling flattered. “I’m sure if I asked for it off I could probably get it after all these years.”

“You should; we’d love to have you,” Henry told her. “Isn’t that right?”

There was cheerful agreement around the table, and Briar Rose appreciated the encouragement, especially from Frank, who gave her a sweetly appraising look through his glasses. 

Immediately she remembered him naked and realized that in this exact same moment he was probably recalling _her_ naked, which threatened to send Briar Rose into a spasm of giggles. She brought her napkin up to hide them.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, her gaze concerned. 

Briar Rose nodded, straightening up again. “Yes . . . just, having a little . . . flashback. So I suppose I could ask for Christmas off . . .”

“Yes! And George can come too, right?” Sean asked. “Maybe we can get some reindeer antlers for him!”

“You can try,” Briar Rose smiled, “But he usually shakes them off and chews them.”

 

She had to leave a little early, and in the twilight, Frank offered to walk her to her car his voice low. “Thank you. The cauliflower was delicious and I think the hummingbird cake is going to become legendary.”

“It’s a good recipe,” Briar Rose agreed. She opened the back passenger door to let George hop in, and turned to Frank, eyeing him affectionately. “Thanks for putting me on the spot with grace, by the way.”

“I knew you’d rise to the occasion,” he smiled back. “So . . . over my shoulder. How many of them are at the windows?”

Briar Rose risked a quick glance. “Oh geeze. Ah, well I see Danny and Eddie and Erin . . . aaaand your dad.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought,” he replied, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “They’re waiting to see if I kiss you or not.”

“We should just shake hands then,” Briar Rose suggested mischievously. “A good solid manly handshake. That would really drive them crazy.”

“Probably,” Frank agreed, “although I’ve already gotten some commentary from Dad about last night.”

She blushed. “Parents. Okay, handshake it _is_ then.”

Frank held out his grip and she shook it firmly, looking up into his amused face and trying not to laugh.

“And?” he asked, not letting go.

“Honestly? It’s hilarious,” she spluttered. “They’re all staring in shock.”

He grinned. “Okay, I guess that’s enough torment.”

“For them?”

“For _me_ ,” Frank responded and lightly tugged her forward, kissing her and even from all the way across the lawn the sound of a muted cheer went up, making Briar Rose giggle.


	11. Chapter 11

“But you _never_ take Christmas off!” Sarah blurted, looking at Briar Rose as if she’d suddenly grown a second head. “For years!”

“Yes, well _this_ year . . .” Briar Rose took a sip of coffee and tried to stay calm. She knew Sarah didn’t like surprises; as the head of the surgical scheduling team, she planned everything meticulously, keeping the daily routines for everyone on the hospital rotation on an even keel.

“I can do it, I suppose,” Sarah admitted, “but it’s . . . _weird_. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Briar Rose protested. “I’m allowed to celebrate a holiday ON the holiday once in a while, right?”

“Sure,” Sarah agreed, her suspicion fading a bit. “It’s not like you haven’t put in the time for _other_ people, that’s for sure. Let me get on it and I’ll see what I can do. I can probably get Horowitz or Martin to swap.”

“If you could, I would appreciate it very much,” Briar Rose told her, feeling mingled trepidation and relief. Having Sarah on her side helped, but the idea of not working on Christmas was still a little uncertain for her. She carried her mug into the elevator and went up to her office, getting ready for the first consultation of the day.

There weren’t too many patients who wanted surgery before the holidays, and Briar Rose knew her schedule would definitely pick up by mid-January of course but it was nice to know that barring major emergencies she’d have some time to shop and decorate. After meeting with Mrs. Pham (routine tubal ligation) and Ms Thompson (vaginal reconstruction) Briar Rose opened up her laptop and did a little on-line window shopping.

It dawned on her that perhaps the best way to get to know the Reagans was to share who _she_ was, and with that in mind, Briar Rose spent some time calling in a few favors from Cherry Hollow. Afterwards she ordered a tree to be delivered, and saw it was time to attend the weekly staff debriefing.

Lucas had saved her a seat at the long conference table and she slipped in, sitting next to him as Elliot Petrov, head of the department gave a little grunt. Most of the others were there with a few stragglers coming in after she did. Briar Rose kept her expression neutral, but Lucas wasn’t as polite.

“Waste of time,” he grumbled, as he always did. “All this could be done through emails and I wouldn’t have to leave my breakfast Panini on my desk. So what’s up with Christmas?”

Briar Rose was trying to pay attention to Petrov’s drone about some sort of team review for March, and only half-heard Lucas’ question. “Christmas?”

“Yeah, Sarah mentioned you wanted it off this year. So is this thing with the new guy getting serious?” he teased, but his glance held an honest question.

She took a sip of her coffee before answering, not exactly sure what to say, waiting for Petrov to look at the other side of the conference table. “It is,” Briar Rose finally confessed. “Lord help me, it is.”

Lucas grinned broadly, and scribbled a note on a post-it, passing it to her as he turned an attentive face to Petrov, who was frowning.

_DETAILS!_ The note read, and Briar Rose smothered a giggle at that. She scribbled _after the meeting_ and passed it back, turning her attention to the Chief of Surgery and his new guidelines on meetings with pharmaceutical reps.

Afterwards she and Lucas chatted on the way back up to their offices and he looked alarmed when Briar Rose finally dropped the name.

“Reagan? That huge one who was having lunch with the off-limits blonde of my dreams? THAT Reagan?” he blurted.

“That Reagan,” Briar Rose admitted, trying not to laugh. “He’s really very nice.”

Lucas shot her a dubious look. “Have you _seen_ him at a press conference broadcasts? Or when they do a sound bite for the news, B-Rose? He looks like he _personally_ wants to reinstate the death penalty!”

“Yes well he can look intimidating,” Briar Rose agreed, well-aware that Lucas had a point. A somber-faced Frank Reagan was a formidable presence. “But that’s for the general public.”

Her friend didn’t look entirely convinced. “He _called_ me, you know. Personally. Was very direct about . . . well, let’s just say I got the message about boundaries and proprieties and the stalker laws. Not that I as stalking.”

“You were being romantically enthusiastic, as you do at times,” Briar Rose nodded. “And in this case you’re lucky the intervention was cordial.”

Lucas sighed. “Yeah message received. Still, you and that grizzly . . . that’s scary. He really doesn’t look like your type!”

“I don’t _have_ a type,” Briar Rose shot back with a hint of bitterness as they reached her office door. “You know that.”

“Hey,” Lucas reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder, his expression stricken. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What I _should_ be saying is ‘good for you!’ I know it’s been a long time since you’ve gotten serious about anyone. And I’m glad for you, B-Rose, I really am. Just because I don’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t right for you.”

She laid her hand over his and smiled. “Thanks. Still in the early days but he really is special, Lucas.”

“Good,” Lucas nodded. His face shifted to an impish expression. “So . . . is he also good . . . ?”

She blushed. “I am not going to kiss and tell, unlike _some_ people around here!”

“Annnd with that I have my answer,” Lucas crowed, grinning. “Man, does he know about your . . . prescription?”

“Gotta go!” Briar Rose told him, waggling her fingers and ducking into her office to giggle. She leaned against the door, feeling a surge of pleasure as she dipped into a few memories for a moment, giddy.

She knew things now.

Frank Reagan snored, for one. Not loudly or all night, but a little soft purr sometimes that rumbled a bit. She knew that while he didn’t mind being the big spoon, he really liked being the _little_ spoon, and when Briar Rose wrapped herself around his broad back and threw a long leg over his, he would sigh contentedly.

She knew he liked his eggs scrambled and his coffee black with a little sugar; that he checked on his family regularly and he said a lot without words. The two of them could pass an entire morning holding hands and sharing glances, giving into a kiss now and then.

It was quietly wonderful, this easy give and take. So much so that Briar Rose wondered what would eventually break. There had to be something that would work its way into this relationship, and all she wanted was a little forewarning. With Wendell it had been his parents, obviously. She was sure they’d been the ones to pressure him out of the relationship, not that he didn’t agree with them. Being involved with a _gweilo_ woman had been bad enough in their eyes, Briar Rose knew, but one who would never have children . . . .

She pushed the thought and herself away, straightening from the door and settling back at her desk, determined to get as much out of the way as she could before the holidays.

\--oo00oo—

The call was unexpected but welcome; Briar Rose set George’s food down as she wedged her phone between shoulder and cheek. “Hey Henry.”

“Hey B-Rose,” Henry responded, sounding a little awkward but upbeat. “Wanted to see if you had a free evening to do some shopping with me.”

She checked the kitchen clock, noting it was nearly five. “Uh sure . . . where were you thinking of going?”

“There’s a Christmas Bazaar down at John Paul Jones Park this time of year,” Henry replied. “Sponsored by the Police and Fire Widows and Children’s Benefit. I like to get a few things there every year.”

“Sounds good,” Briar Rose agreed, feeling a sense of relief—John Paul Jones Park was only a few minutes away compared to the ninety minute commute getting to Manhattan would be this time in the late afternoon. “When would you like me to pick you up?”

“I was hoping to get out there in about an hour?” 

“Perfect,” she told him. “See you then.”

 

Henry came out as she pulled up and she realized he must have been watching from the windows for her. He was bundled up with a plaid scarf and a flat cap, looking merry as he climbed in the passenger side. 

“Thanks for doing this,” he told her. “It’s getting harder and harder to ditch the family when it comes to shopping.”

Briar Rose grinned at him. “You like to surprise them,” she deduced.

He grinned back at her. “Absolutely. No fun in being predictable. Besides, they have this booth with some of the best hot chocolate in all of North America. I’m telling you, whipped cream taller than the Empire State building and enough mini marshmallows to float an oil tanker!”

“I can’t wait,” she assured him.

They got lucky with parking, finding one of the last open spaces in the lot across from the event, and as they got out Briar Rose could hear music drifting through the air. Henry paid the lot attendant and nodded towards the candy cane archway where people were headed, keeping pace with Briar Rose. “This is the place. If you weren’t in a Christmas mood before, you will be after this!”

He was right of course; the festive atmosphere was friendly and full of good cheer. They wandered around, looking at various booths for a while with Henry sharing his list. “Nicky wants something called an ear cuff, Lord help me, and Sean asked for Celtic wear. I usually get Erin some of these fancy cooking oils with the herbs in them, and maybe a houseplant but she told me to stop because they always die on her.”

“No time?” Briar Rose guessed, and Henry nodded.

“Yep.”

“You should get her a silk one,” she suggested. “They look gorgeous and she won’t end up feeling guilty.”

“That’s a thought,” he agreed, steering her towards a booth where a line was forming. Briar Rose realized it was the hot chocolate and that only a few people were ahead of them.

Henry pointed out towards the middle of the fair. “There’s an ornament maker there. I get Danny, Jamie and Frank a new police ornament every year. Frank’s got enough to do a separate tree with ‘em.”

“Does he?” Briar Rose wanted to know.

“He does,” Henry murmured with pride. “In his office. Nice display for anyone coming through.”

“Nice,” Briar Rose agreed. “Is the Reagan family tree up yet?”

“Nah,” Henry told her as they moved up in the line. “We do it all together after the second Sunday dinner in December. We’ve got some family ornaments, and then everybody brings a new one to share, if they’ve _got_ one by then.”

A suspicion dawned on her and she caught Henry’s too-innocent gaze. “ _If_ they’ve got one,” she repeated.

Busted, he laughed. “Well we’re here, so at least _you and I_ will be able to bring new ones, right?”

The hot chocolate lived up to Henry’s description, and they settled at a picnic table to enjoy it, taking a pause in shopping. Henry looked slightly pensive now, and Briar Rose waited for him to speak.

“Briar Rose . . .” he began, and hesitated. She gazed at him, waiting, and he started again. “Honey . . . you know Frank’s crazy about you, right?”

“I had an inkling,” she admitted, feeling warm. “A hint.”

“Yeah,” Henry gave a half smile. “So I guess what I want to know is . . . you feel the same way, right? You’re not gonna break my son’s heart, are you? Because it’s been a long damned time since Mary Margaret, and Frank . . . he’s not the kind of man who does _anything_ half-assed. Not at work and not in his personal life. I mean--you’re the _only_ woman he’s ever brought to dinner in the last fourteen years.”

Briar Rose took a deep breath, warming her hands around the Styrofoam cup. “I would never knowingly, willingly break Frank’s heart. He’s . . .” helplessly she looked up and around, trying to find the right words. “He’s the best thing to happen to me in _years_ , Henry. He’s kind and sweet and he’s becoming a part of me. A really, really _important_ part of me.”

Henry smiled, his teeth flashing. “So . . . you have it bad too.”

“I have it bad too,” Briar Rose agreed, feel her face go red.

“Okay then,” Henry reached over to pat her hand. “I love my son. Lost my first one, didn’t think we’d have a second chance but we did. Francis is . . . he’s a _gift_. Everything a father could want and more, even when we butt heads. _Especially_ when we butt heads. And all I want is for him to be happy. Not successful or important or powerful—he’s done that all on his own. But happy. And you . . . you make him happy.”

Embarrassingly Briar Rose felt the prickle of tears. “Ohhhh . . .” she sniffled, trying not to sob at this honest confession. Henry fished out a handkerchief—a genuine cotton handkerchief and passed it to her. She noted the hand-embroidered monogram even as she wiped her eyes.

“Okay then,” Henry murmured, his own voice none too steady. “I’m damned glad you feel the same way and I hope you understand why I had to check.”

“Yes,” Briar Rose nodded. “I do. But Henry . . . I can’t promise anything I’m not in a position to promise _beyond_ loving Frank. Life is complicated.”

He took the final sip of his hot chocolate and smiled again at her. “Nah. Once you establish the loving part, the rest finds a way. Trust me on that, B-Rose. So let’s go see if we can find whatever the hell an ear cuff is, okay?”


	12. Chapter 12

There were only two weeks before Christmas now, and in the flurry of work and all the extra activities each of them had, the only time she and Frank saw each other was during Sunday Dinner, along with all the other Reagans, except Jack, who was due back from school the Sunday before Christmas.

It wasn’t a bad thing, but it was a little frustrating. Without even having to discuss it, she and Frank maintained a polite decorum around the family, keeping their interactions to quick, chaste hugs and pecks on the cheek, but deep within her Briar Rose felt a restlessness. The intimacy with Frank had become . . . addictive. Urges long suppressed had made themselves known again, despite her intentions and the only comfort was that Frank too seemed to be a little on edge though he masked it well.

 _Years of practice_ , Briar Rose thought with amusement.

When she brought a cranberry curd pie and lemon-steamed broccoli, Briar Rose made it a point to add the new ornament she’d bought in with the bag. Jamie was in charge of dinner and the flock of grilled Cornish game hens he and Eddie brought looked almost too adorable to eat. They served them up with flair, the two of them in tandem doing so.

“Fancy pantsy,” Henry observed after grace, poking his hen with a fork.

“Elegant,” Erin corrected with a grin. “They look great!”

“Rosemary butter on them,” Eddie told everyone. “Gives the skin a good browning.”

For the first few minutes everyone ate, passing salad and sides around without too much discussion. Finally Nicky spoke up. “So why _do_ people kiss under the mistletoe?”

“Because it’s a lot of fun,” Danny muttered with a grin. “So don’t you dare try it until you’re thirty. At least.”

“It’s tradition,” Jamie sighed. “A Nordic legend that somehow got mixed up with Christmas. Please pass the butter.”

“It’s a dumb tradition,” Sean grunted. “Christmas isn’t supposed to be about kissing anyway. It’s supposed to be about baby Jesus’ birthday.”

“Well I’m sure his _parents_ kissed him,” Briar Rose impishly pointed out. “Seeing as how he was the most adorable newborn on earth at that point.”

“He was a baby; everybody kisses _those_ ,” Henry pointed out with a grin. “The rest of us need all the mistletoe we can _get_.”

“Well we don’t have any, so the point is moot,” Frank murmured mildly. “Who brought an ornament this evening?”

Nearly everyone made a noise of affirmation, and Briar Rose shot at look at Henry, who winked back at her. They made it through dinner and dessert, the conversations ranging from future weather disasters to the distressing number of vandalized subway stations and finally it was time to decorate the tree.

A real one of course; the scent of pine filled the living room and Briar Rose admired the full thick branches. Her own little tree was already done up at home, standing near the bay window there and lit for the evening. Someone—and she suspected it was Henry—had already hung the lights on this one. George snuffled it approvingly and circled around the coffee table, tail wagging.

“All right,” Frank murmured. He motioned to what looked like holiday popcorn tins on the coffee table. “The traditionals of course, but we’ll start with the new ones.”

“Traditionals?” Briar Rose wanted to know.

Nicky smiled. “You know—the ornaments you HAVE to have every year. All the baby ones, and the first Christmas ones.”

“The ones we made in school,” Danny winced. “Lord help us.”

“Hey just because your Popsicle stick angel looks like Sonny Bono is no reason to not put it up,” Erin teased her brother, who shot her a sour look.

“Yeah, well your bread dough snow man looks like it should be shot down by the Ghostbusters,” Danny replied.

“Christmas,” Frank intoned patiently. “Santa’s watching.”

“Okay we’re not kids anymore, Dad. That’s just creepy.”

She couldn’t help it; Briar Rose giggled as Sean patted George and rolled his eyes.

“Nevertheless,” Frank murmured, and gestured to the tins.

It didn’t take long to decorate the tree with so many people helping, and Briar Rose admired the eclectic collection, particularly taken with the ones that had photos in them. The black and white snapshot of a very young mustache-less Frank in his acolyte robes was particularly adorable.

“You really _do_ have an upper lip!” she teased, only to see him give a pained glare.

“He’s pretty angelic in that shot—too bad looks are deceiving,” Henry observed. “That was the year you broke three of Mr. Fenterman’s windows with foul balls, wasn’t it?”

“And I paid for every _one_ of them,” Frank muttered defensively. “As you well know.”

“Power hitter,” Henry told Briar Rose. “Not too good at aim, though.”

“Not everyone’s an athlete,” she agreed.

Frank’s pointed glance promised retribution for THAT comment, she knew with a smirk.

Then it was time to hang the new ornaments, and one by one each person held up their offering. When it was her turn, Briar Rose shyly held up a round globe with George’s face painted on it.

“The fuzzy one,” she announced, holding it up.At his nickname, George wagged his tail and came to sniff it. Seeing it wasn’t a treat, he returned to lean comfortably against Sean again, giving a sigh as Briar Rose hung his globe near the bottom.

After the last ornament, Henry cleared his throat. “Okay, so speaking of mistletoe . . .” he pulled out a huge cluster wrapped up in peppermint ribbon. “Here.”

“Ew,” Sean repeated. “If we hang it in here it’s gonna be gross. I don’t want to kiss any of you.”

His great-grandfather shot him a gimlet look, and very carefully pulled off a sprig, handing it to him. “No, you get your own to hang wherever you _want_ , kiddo. Like say, your locker.”

“Like _that’s_ gonna help,” Nicky muttered in an undertone, but she grinned as she accepted a cluster.

Henry passed out the rest of it, pointing meaningfully at each person. “Use it _wisely_.”

“With great mistletoe comes great kissing?” Jamie murmured, looking as innocent as he could. Next to him, Eddie turned a giggle into a cough.

“Can I have two? I might wear this one out,” Erin batted her eyes.

Danny snorted. “I can see the news crawl now; _entire_ DA’s office infected with cooties . . .”

“And I can think of a few people who’ll be getting _coal_ for Christmas,” Frank pointed out quietly.

“Always on the straight and narrow,” Danny sighed, but accepted his sprig with no further comments. When Henry handed one to Briar Rose, she couldn’t help but glance at Frank, who refused to meet her glance as she tucked it into her purse.

Henry hung the last one in the front door vestibule, letting it hang from the overhead light there, the peppermint ribbon glittering in the glow.

\--oo00oo—

It happened so fast she barely caught her breath. One minute Briar Rose was putting the last rinsed dish into the machine and the next she was spun, pinned against the refrigerator, Frank’s mouth hovering over hers.

“Not an athlete?” he taunted quietly. “Don’t judge me by my rookie season, sweetheart.”

“So you’re telling me you’re better with your balls now?” she shot back, suddenly achy as he pressed against her.

“Much,” Frank assured her, one arm braced over her head. “As I think you know.”

“Well I seem to recall something about it, but it’s been _so_ long . . .” Briar Rose replied, feeling a surge of lust, startled at how quickly she responded to him. It seemed to be mutual, given the way Frank’s other hand slid around her hip to cup possessively around her ass.

“You,” he growled softly, “are driving me crazy. Do you have any idea how _difficult_ it is to behave myself when you smell nice and are within arm’s reach?”

“I have a clue,” Briar Rose whispered. The coolness of the fridge at her back warred with the heat of the man pinning her there. She lightly brushed her lips against his, a jolt going through her at the heat.

“The arch of your neck; the curve of your smile,” Frank rumbled, his tone almost angry with hunger. “All I want is to start licking your collarbones and keep going.”

“Not _here_!” she gasped as he pressed a tickly kiss at the corner of her mouth, the sensation sweet and tense at the same time. “Your _father_ \--!”

“—went to bed fifteen minutes ago,” Frank whispered, his hot breath against her cheek. “He’s out for the night and I’m seizing the moment, among other things.”

“You—” Briar Rose slipped one arm around the back of his neck to pull him down into a full kiss. The sweet shock of it left her breathless, as did the way Frank rocked against her. Briar Rose smooched him again, feeling reckless and hot, her hips grinding against his. It was crazy and risky but God she didn’t want to stop, and then his hand slipped up under her sweater, strong fingers gliding under the bottom of her bra . . .

“Y-you’re copping a _feel_?” Briar Rose accused breathlessly, her own hands trying to find some way in under his bulky Aran sweater.

“Damned right I am,” Frank assured her with a quick grin. “It’s been on my to-do list.”

Briar Rose wanted to protest but several things happened all at once.

First, in the course of all their groping, her shirt had ridden up, and the waistband of her slacks, particularly in the back, puckered a bit, opening a space between fabric and her lower spine.

Secondly, the shifting also brought her rear end in alignment with the pushbar for the ice cube dispenser.

Consequently when Frank’s hand slid over her left breast, Briar Rose backed up, and three frosty ice cubes dropped down her back and into her pants.

She yelped at the sudden chill, lurching up against Frank who kissed her again, smothering her little cries with his own enthusiasm, and it wasn’t until she desperately wriggled out of his grip and began rapidly undoing her slacks that he stared. 

“Sweetheart . . .” he warned, glancing to the doorway, but Briar Rose was digging behind her, hopping a little now.

“Ice!” she hissed at him, finding one of the cubes as the other two dropped down one pant leg to clatter on the linoleum floor. "In my pants!"

Frank lost it. He broke into laughter and had to lean on the counter to support himself as angrily, Briar Rose picked up the offending cubes, threw them down the disposal and turned it on.

He was still smirking when she glared at him; the rush of hurt at his amusement so strong it made her ball her fists. Briar Rose whistled and George came trotting in. She bent to hook his collar.

“We’re going home now,” she told the dog.

“Wait,” Frank sobered, reaching for her but Briar Rose pushed his hand away.

“No,” she shot back. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Briar Rose . . .” she heard the worry in his voice and part of her wanted to forgive him, but another part—the _louder_ part in her head right now—didn’t.

“Don’t,” she warned him coolly. “I don’t want to say something hurtful right now so best let me _go_ , Frank. I’ll talk to you another time.”

Scooping up her purse and coat, she led George out, well-aware of Frank trailing behind her like a watchful bear. She drove off, and it wasn’t until she pulled into the driveway of her own home ten minutes later that Briar Rose wiped her wet eyes. When she went for a tissue, her fingers touched something and she pulled out the mistletoe.

She sniffled all over again.


	13. Chapter 13

It seemed silly by morning. Briar Rose felt a sense of remorse for her quick departure and cool treatment of Frank. All that fuss over a few stupid ice cubes.

But if she was honest with herself, Briar Rose admitted it wasn’t really the ice cubes. It was being seduced and then laughed at that bothered her. Something about the way he’d put her into the situation without acknowledging his part in it just . . . sat badly with her. It wasn’t what she’d expected of Frank Reagan.

Briar Rose took George over to Lainie’s before she left for work, not mentioning the incident because it seemed silly. She headed out, determined to avoid her cell phone and just give herself a little more time for perspective. She got coffee, headed up to her office and set her phone face down as she logged on to check her schedule for the day. Two pre-op tests for Ms Thompson were in so Briar Rose looked them over. She was about to email Sarah about scheduling when her phone buzzed.

Biting her lips, she flipped it over.

//A shit-load of flowers just got delivered to your house.// Lainie texted her. //like, half a shop worth.//

//Can you go ahead and bring them in? thanks// Briar Rose tapped back, feeling a sense of relief along with annoyance. She should have expected it; Frank was wonderfully old-fashioned of course, but while flowers were nice, what she _really_ wanted was to talk with him.

//Okay.// Lainie agreed. //Did he propose?//

//NO// Briar Rose jabbed her phone. //I got a little mad about something.//

A startled emoji appeared followed by //Damn, I’d hate to see what he sends when you two REALLY fight!//

Briar Rose found the annoyed emoji. //Yeah well flowers don’t fix everything. See you tonight.//

Slipping her phone in her lab coat pocket, Briar Rose made her way to Lucas’ office and peeked in; he was charting something for an upcoming surgery on an ankle judging by the 3D diagram on his computer screen. He glanced up at her and grinned.

“Just wondering if we’ll ever manage to create popsockets for various joints. Wouldn’t it be a marvel of engineering to pull that off?”

She snickered. “It would, although I’m not sure about the stability. We’d all be bouncing around like Inspector Gadget. Hey, do you have a moment?”

He nodded. “For?”

“I think I sent you a note about the possible hip dysplasia for one of the newborns from this week. Marla did a click test but I felt it was inconclusive and . . .”

Lucas rose, nodding. “Sure. I needed to stretch a little anyway.”

They headed up to Obstetrics, and Lucas was telling her about some television show he’d gotten hook into; something about a family of lobster fishermen in Maine. She made all the interested noises, her fingers around her phone as the elevator rose, and just as they reached their floor, it buzzed against her fingertips.

She checked it. 

//I’m sorry.//

And then, //succotash.//

A rush of tenderness ran through her, and she stepped out; Lucas was still talking about the fishermen show.

She started to type back. //Succo

The report was loud, echoing through the hallway. Briar Rose’s head jerked up and she exchanged glances with Lucas, who was as frozen and startled as she was. Her fingers clutched around her phone tightly.

Then two more in rapid fire, and a scream.

“Fuck,” Lucas gulped. He waved to Briar Rose, moving faster up the hallway. “Come on, move!”

They scrambled to the little alcove to the unmarked Maternity Ward door and Briar Rose breathlessly stared up at the cameras, waving frantically as Lucas swiped his ID through the lock.

More shots, and then a frantic call over the PA system. “Code Silver! Not a drill, Code Silver!”

The door buzzed; Lucas shoved it open, dragging Briar Rose behind him, the two of them tangling up as he frantically tried to shoulder the door closed again. “Lock it! _Lock_ it!”

Briar Rose slipped her phone in her pocket and swept into the little rotunda to the desk. “Active shooter! Lock the door, cut the lights, Donna! Latrice, who’s on right now?”

“Uh, me, Donna, and Wendolyn,” the heavyset African-American nurse called back, hands moving over the blinking lights on her phone set. “Shit! Where’s the override again?”

Lucas was already reaching for the waiting area chairs, shoving them against the door. “How many patients in-house?”

Donna, a tall thin nurse came skittering out from a room, her expression startled. “Six, and seven babies. God! Is it _real_?”

More shots answered that question and she moaned, crossing herself. Briar Rose darted to her and hugged her. “We need you,” she reminded the woman fiercely. “Okay, We’re going to put everyone in the nursery, got it? Help me round them up, Donna.”

Latrice managed to hit the right buttons; the lights cut out and the heavy bolt on the Unit main door slid shut with a loud click. Lucas piled another chair against the door.

It shifted into nightmare pace, and Briar Rose found herself helping the nurses move women into the nursery. Two were post-partum, but the other four were in various stages of labor, with one small Filipino-American woman grunting profusely. Latrice sat with her, murmuring quietly. Donna and Wendolyn pulled the newborn bassinet gurneys to the back of the nursery, letting each mother sit with her infant. Lucas hurriedly dragged two mattresses in so those in labor could lie down before locking them all in together the nursery and closing the curtains on the big viewing window.

And there was _more_ gunfire. Every time a shot went off they all flinched, but no-one spoke. A few cried quietly.

Briar Rose sat with her arm around one of the pregnant women, trying to be comforting.

An hour passed.

Of course sitting on the floor in the dark, everyone tried their cell phones with no success.

“Can’t get through,” Latrice grunted. “Prob’ly overloading the nearest tower.”

“I don’t want to die, I don’t want my baby to die!” One of the mothers whimpered, holding her infant close.

“Nobody here is going to _die_ ,” Lucas told her. “We’re in one of the safest places inside this hospital with extra locks and security cameras.” He glanced at Briar Rose. She caught his ‘call your policeman boyfriend right NOW’ look, and reached for her cell phone.

It wasn’t there. She patted her lab coat pockets, checked her slacks pockets, even the back ones. “Shit,” Briar Rose snapped. “It’s probably on the rotunda floor.”

“Not letting you out,” Lucas told her his expression strained. “I _can’t_ ; you know the protocol.”

“Damn it.” She DID know protocol and it sucked. Briar Rose smacked her hand against the floor, almost enjoying the pain.

She wondered when Frank would find out what had happened. He probably already knew, Briar Rose decided. And if he knew, he’d be doing something

_That_ was a little reassuring.

Another ninety minutes crawled by.

One of the babies began to cry, and everyone looked over at the bassinet. Donna got up and took the baby.

“Hungry I’d guess . . .” she checked the clock. “Yeah, late by about twenty minutes. We should feed them.”

They did. It was something to do. Things had gotten quiet but that wasn’t much comfort, Briar Rose knew. The normal sounds of pages and buzzers and phone calls had been replaced by mostly silence and it honed the anxiety. None of them knew what was going on and it grated on the nerves.

The Filipino-American woman—Bettina by name—was starting to grunt harder. “Sorry, sorry,” she kept murmured between gasps.

“It’s fine baby, you’re doing good,” Latrice told her. “You’re doin’ what comes natural. We gotcha, you hear?”

Briar Rose exchanged places with Lucas, watching him bottle-feed a sleepy infant in his arms. “That’s the one, by the way. With the possible hip dysplasia.”

He nodded. “Well since I’m here . . .” 

She grinned and slid over to Bettina, helping Latrice wipe her face. “So, I think we ought to check your dilation . . . we can turn you away from everyone for a little privacy . . .”

The little woman gave a weak smile. “Crazy morning, huh?”

“Crazy,” Briar Rose agreed.

*** *** ***

They started hearing voices nearly two hours later, along with heavy footsteps. Outside in the rotunda the phone had been ringing periodically but Lucas had been adamant about not letting anyone out. The nurses understood; the women grumbled. Briar Rose kept her focus on Bettina, who was well into the last stage of labor, and straining hard.

“Blood pressure’s spiking,” Latrice murmured, looking concerned. “Damn I wish we had something to help that.”

Briar Rose nodded in agreement. “We need whatever spare bassinet sheets we’ve got for under her. The other three holding up?”

“Yeah,” Latrice agreed, shifting herself. “Two are a few days away, and the other one’s got at least six hours to go. Damn, I haven’t had to do an old-school delivery in _years_.”

“You’ll do fine,” Briar Rose assured her. “Hopefully all this is over by now.”

Latrice nodded. “Haven’t heard anything in a while, but my nerves, you know? We talk about it and hear about it but this kinda stuff doesn’t happen here.”

“Until now,” Bettina gurgled between them. “Ohhhhnnnnn!”

Things sped up a bit; the other mothers called soft and encouraging comments as Bettina pushed. Lucas wetted towels with some of the distilled water from the cabinet and within the hour, Joseph Daniel Bautista protested his birth in squeaky little cries as Briar Rose wiped him down and Latrice cleaned up the afterbirth. Bettina lay back, exhausted while Lucas checked her pulse.

“He’s okay?” Bettina wanted to know.

“He’s fine,” Latrice assured her. “Big boy; no wonder you were pushing so hard!”

Briar Rose used alcohol, scissors and a rubber band to deal with the umbilical cord. “Okay, we’re---"

A hard knock interrupted her, followed by an amplified voice. “Is everyone okay?”

One of the mothers started to answer but Lucas shook his head frantically. “No!” he whispered. “If they’re legit they’ll have a key to the door. We’re to wait until they unlock it!”

The click followed shortly after that, and a few crashes as the piled chairs in front of the doors fell. Briar Rose moved to cautiously peek around the Maternity Nursery curtain.

“Police,” she called over her shoulder, feeling a rush of relief so strong she felt dizzy. “It’s the police!”

Hours of tension drained at the sight of the SWAT team moving into the rotunda and down the two halls. Lucas reached for the curtains and pulled them open a crack.

“Show us your ID!” he demanded through the thick glass.

The foremost team member pulled out an ID card and pressed it to the glass, his gaze taking in the group. He spoke into a walkie-talkie velcroed to his left shoulder. “Eleven in Maternity, with babies.”

The card was for a Lieutenant Paul Van Doorn of the NYCPD, and seeing it, Lucas finally unlocked the nursery door. They didn’t enter though, and Briar Rose appreciated that. Instead, she, Donna and Wendolyn came out, immediately heading for supplies, grabbing medications and bedding.

More people streamed through the Maternity main doors—a team of EMTs who set up in the rotunda. Lucas and Briar Rose spoke to them, assisting with triage as the SWAT team declared the ward cleared and began to move out again.

So much movement after so many hours of sitting still had Briar Rose a little disoriented. More so when one of the SWAT team stayed behind and cleared his throat. “Doctor Clowderbock?”

She looked at the young officer, who held her gaze. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I need you to come with me, ma’am.”

“But--!” she looked to the rush of activity in the ward; a couple of the EMTs were talking to Bettina; Lucas was helping the other mothers back to their rooms; Latrice was talking to another EMT over the bassinets.

“I’m under _orders_ , ma’am,” he told her, looking uneasy.

Briar Rose held up her hand motioning him to wait and stepped over to Lucas, who was setting a woman into a wheelchair. “I have to go. Are you good here?”

Lucas looked up at her and then caught sight of the SWAT officer behind her. He flashed a quick, slightly strained grin. “Yeah, we got it. B-Rose—“ Lucas wrapped her in a quick heartfelt hug. “Thanks.”

Briar Rose followed the young man in tactical gear out into the hall and to the elevator. She felt numb, and when they reached the lobby level, that changed to a sense of horror. Broken glass littered tile of the central atrium, and the damage wasn’t limited to the furniture; she spotted blood trails on either side of the main information desk. Her steps started to slow, but the young man gently laid a hand on her back, guiding her through the lobby and down a hall she recognized as the service route to the delivery bays.

They stepped out and Briar Rose saw that all the usual trucks had been moved to form a ring around a temporary command center with cots, screens, and first responders at work. She took a shaky breath.

“This way,” the young man indicated to a screened off area between a linen delivery truck and part of the parking structure wall. She moved a little more quickly now as the chill of the December day hit her.  
“Sir,” the young man called, and waved to Briar Rose to step ahead.

Around the screen.

Haggard, solemn, bracing himself for the worst—

Frank.

She barely got a breath before he surged forward, catching her in his arms, pulling her tightly against him and the sweet warm wall he made.

Briar Rose slid her arms around him, squeezing, clinging. “Frank,” she squeaked, words lost against his vest. “Frank!”

He didn’t make a sound but she felt his ribs hitch and knew he’d forced back his reaction even as his mouth brushed her hair. “I prayed,” Frank whispered huskily. “Harder than I ever have in my _life_. Your text . . .”

She looked up at him, his gaunt expression. “Half a word,” his voice nearly broke. “Half a word and then nothing more. The report came in about a shooter and . . .”

“Oh God,” Briar Rose understood. She reached up to cup his face. “It’s okay. It’s all _okay_. I was in the Maternity Ward behind a locked door and I’m sorry I got mad about the ice and you laughing at me and I never, _never_ meant to do this to you--”

He kissed her, a good desperate kiss that cut off her words and the surge of love behind it made her swoon. More than romance, more than desire; this was Frank sharing his heart in the most intimate way he could.

Someone rattled the screen. “Sir . . . ohh, uh . . .”

Briar Rose broke the kiss, managing a smile through her tears. “I’ve . . . never succotashed you more.”

“Marry me,” he whispered.


	14. Chapter 14

It took another three hours into the afternoon for her to be debriefed and released from the scene; Frank stayed close the entire time, and the minute Briar Rose was permitted to go he loaded her into the waiting car, instructing the detail driver before climbing in with her. 

The exhaustion started to hit, and she sagged against him, aware of her bloodied lab coat, of her hair coming loose from its bobby pins. Frank slipped an arm around her, his voice low. “We’re stopping at your place to pack and pick up the dog because you’re coming home with me.”

“I don’t—” she tried to protest, but he gave her a patient look.

“Reporters,” he murmured. “The last thing you and George _need_ is to be hounded by them. Not to mention you’re running on the last of your adrenaline and you’re going to crash pretty soon. I know; I’ve _been_ there.” He pulled out his phone. “Tell me what to grab.”

She dictated a few items: slacks; sweaters; lingerie; dog food and hesitated before adding, “Maybe my, um, prescription? I keep it in a box on the dresser.”

Frank fought a brief wince and looked at her. “Probably . . . a good idea.”

When they pulled up on 85th street, Briar Rose sighed. “Frank . . . why don’t you get George while _I_ pack. He’s with my neighbor Lainie . . .” she pointed at the house, “and I can go a little quicker since I know where my things are.”

He nodded reluctantly.

It took twenty minutes, and leaving the flowers behind nearly killed her. Lainie was right about how many there were. The last thing Briar Rose did before she left with her overnight bag was to pluck the card from the bouquet and read it.

BR--  
I’m sorry. Please help me be a better man next time because knowing me, I’m sure there _will_ be one. Succotash always, FR

Her legs wobbled as she came down the porch steps, and the detail driver took her suitcase, his expression kind. “Not much further ma’am,” he assured her. Briar Rose nodded and looked through the window, watching Frank and George stride up to the car.

George settled in mostly on Briar Rose’s feet while Frank climbed in with a grunt. “Mrs. Goldstein sends her love and has agreed to keep your whereabouts quiet for the moment,” he reported with a sigh. “She seems very . . . protective of you.”

“Lainie’s a good person,” Briar Rose murmured, closing her eyes. “We’ve known each other for years.”

“I got that ferocious impression, yes,” Frank replied, and the car pulled away from the curb.

The drive was less than seven minutes but she was nearly asleep when they pulled up on Terrace Harbor. Henry met them at the door and hugged Briar Rose tightly, not saying a word for a long moment. She held onto him in return, grateful for his support. When Henry let go, he looked at her and then Frank. “Inside. I’ll let everybody know.”

They steered her to the big sofa in the living room, and Henry took her suitcase. George circled around and found a spot under the coffee table, being uncharacteristically good, Briar Rose thought dimly. Frank helped her out of her lab coat and bent to pull her flats off.

“You’re going to rest,” he told her, settling in on the end of the sofa and letting her lay her head against his chest. “I’m right here.”

“I should go . . .” she waved in the general direction Henry had gone, but Frank shook his head.

“You’d end up disoriented when you wake up. Nap here; you can sleep anywhere in the house later tonight.”

She closed her eyes, drifting, comforted beyond words, finally, finally relaxing.

*** *** *** 

Dimly Briar Rose came back to consciousness, opening her eyes to find herself looking at the underside of Frank’s chin. He set aside the book he’d been reading and smiled down at her. “Better?” He wanted to know.

“Better,” Briar Rose admitted, although her joints were stiff and the early twilight was a little disconcerting. By her estimation she’d slept for about three hours. Something smelled appetizing through and she slowly sat up, pushing away a blanket.

“Spaghetti,” Henry announced. “When in doubt about what to cook, go for spaghetti, I always say.”

They sat at the kitchen table, the three of them quietly eating after grace. Briar Rose looked at both men and sighed. “Who was the shooter?”

“Dwight Williams,” Frank rumbled as he twirled a fork through his pasta. “Worked one of the janitorial shifts and was recently fired for low-level theft and poor performance reviews. Apparently he managed to keep his passkey and was looking for the Day shift custodial supervisor.”

“How . . . how many dead?” Briar Rose asked numbly.

“Six,” Frank told her in a quiet voice. “Ten others are hospitalized, three in critical condition. We have Williams in custody.”

“Good,” she replied. Although the spaghetti still smelled wonderful she had no appetite. Briar Rose looked at Frank. “You’ll have to do a press conference.”

“Charlie Cohen at the sixty-eighth precinct is handling that,” Frank murmured. “His jurisdiction. I may have to go on-camera tomorrow but because we’ve got a suspect in custody most of the public response is supportive so far.”

“They’ll be vigils,” Henry pointed out. “Probably coverage of that by tonight. Poor souls.”

“Yes,” Briar Rose mumbled. She glanced up from her plate to see both men watching her. “Sorry. I’m just . . . not hungry.”

“Three bites,” Henry told her in a cajoling voice. “I know your heart’s not in it, but three gets _something_ into you and I’ll sleep better knowing it.”

She managed a weak smile. “Blackmail.”

“But in a good way,” Henry assured her. “At least it’s not liver and onions.”

“I _like_ liver and onions,” Briar Rose admitted, amused at how Frank’s face pinched up at this revelation.

“I guess it could be worse,” he murmured in a pained voice. “One dish out of hundreds.”

“Oh you haven’t seen my granny’s recipe file,” Briar Rose teased. “There wasn’t an animal organ she couldn’t make into supper.”

Henry chuckled; Frank gave Briar Rose a dubious glance.

She smirked and started on her first forkful of spaghetti.

 

By early evening though, Briar Rose couldn’t stop yawning even though her mind kept racing. She fretted over her lost cellphone; her purse still up in her office; the imposition of staying with Frank and about Bettina and the other mothers who’d been in her care in the Maternity ward. 

Both Henry and Frank seemed to understand though, and let her pace, let her use the laptop and air her concerns until finally Frank checked his cellphone and glanced at her. “I have a five-thirty wake-up, so we need to get to bed.”

Briar Rose shot him a startled look and glanced guiltily to Henry, who was fighting an embarrassed expression that he tried to wipe off of his face. “Frank--”

“Dad,” he replied evenly, though Briar Rose could hear the repressed emotion behind his words. “I damned near _lost_ her today and I’m not about to leave her to face the first night afterwards by _herself_.”

“You’re right,” his father admitted reluctantly. “It’s your house so you call the shots, but . . . .”

“Wait,” Briar Rose broke in, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Henry. I’ll take the guest room.”

“Honey, that’s not necess--” Henry began, but Frank cleared his throat, waiting until they both looked at him. 

“I proposed,” he told his father.

“Ohhhh!” Henry brightened. “Okay then!”

“I didn’t say yes . . . exactly!” Briar Rose pointed out in exasperation. “We agreed to table that particular . . . situation.”

“Still counts,” Henry slapped his knees and rose up, stretching. “Absolutely. So, now that _that’s_ settled, I’ll see you in the morning. Gonna go set the coffeemaker.” He leaned over Rose to kiss her temple, gave Frank a pat on the shoulder and wandered out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“That . . . was _very_ misleading, Francis Xavier,” Briar Rose scowled at him, fighting the little flutters in her stomach.

“It’s nothing of the sort. I did, in fact, propose,” he pointed out, leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. “My intentions have always been clear.”

“ _Clear_?” She snapped back. “I seem to recall some serious confusion between us just a few months ago over whether you were breaking up with me or trying to go steady.”

Frank looked a little discomfited. “We worked it out, and in that particular case I plead temporary insanity brought on by proximity. I don’t think very well when I’m that close to you.”

At that, Briar Rose laughed softly. “Yes, I know the feeling. But you asking is one thing. I reserve the right to answer at a later date.”

“I can live with that,” Frank told her. “What I _can’t_ live without . . .” he rose up and pulled her to her feet, lightly putting his arms around her, “is you not being around to give an _answer_.”

She ever so tenderly pounded a slender fist on his chest. “Stop it!” Briar Rose ordered, sniffling. “You’ll make me cry again.”

Frank hugged her.

*** *** ***

Frank’s bedroom was very . . . Frank, Briar Rose decided. Dark wood furniture, masculine and slightly formal, with pale blue and white wallpaper. His dresser held a collection of framed photos with familiar faces and the bookcase was full of well-loved titles, judging by some of the worn spines.

She set her suitcase on the bed and pulled out a few things, feeling extremely self-conscious about it all.  
The bathroom was just as difficult. Neat as a pin of course with the same blue and white striped motif. The only personal touches were the huge ceramic shaving mug with the NYPD logo on it, and a bottle of Old Spice next to the toothbrush stand. Briar Rose made a face at herself in the mirror before washing and moisturizing her features, and letting down her hair.

She’d grabbed the first nightgown and realized it was the silk shortie in soft lilac with black lace trim. Not a bad one, but it left her legs bare and she frowned as she slipped into it, digging out the matching panties. When Briar Rose came out again, Frank was already in pajama bottoms and undershirt, laying out clothes for the next day. He glanced over at her and gave a little sigh.

“You’re sleeping in . . . _that_?” he asked, voice a tad uneven.

Briar Rose tried to pull the hem down. “Yes,” she replied curtly. “Either this or naked, so I thought I’d put up _some_ barrier.”

“Not much of one,” Frank observed. “More like . . . window dressing.”

“We are _not_ going to . . . vo-do-dee-oh-do while your father is a room away,” Briar Rose muttered, dropping herself on the mattress and working her hairbrush down the waves over her bare shoulder.

“Where do you even _get_ these words?” Frank snickered, hanging up a dark suit on the valet rack next to the dresser.

“Granny was a flapper,” Briar Rose admitted. “And I always liked her stories. Did you let George out?”

“He’s attended to his business and is happily ensconced on the living room sofa for tonight,” Frank assured her. He watched her brush for a moment and then came over, taking it from her and doing it himself.

She let him, closing her eyes and enjoying it. “So what happens now?”

“I guess you braid it and we go to bed.”

“That’s,” Briar Rose looked over her shoulder, “Not what I meant and you know it.”

Frank pursed his mouth, mustache bunching up. “We sleep,” he told her quietly. “Neither of us really in the mood to pitch woo as your granny would say. We’re both in need of decompression and rest.”

“Okay,” Briar Rose agreed. “We can do this.”

“We can do this,” Frank agreed back. “Besides, I’m leaving early and I get a little cranky if I don’t get enough sleep.”

She made a noise of agreement, amused at how he grumbled at that, but once she was done braiding her hair they climbed into the bed, settling in together before he reached for the nightstand to turn out the light.

“Frank?”

“Mmmm?”

“You know . . .” Briar Rose spoke in a very soft voice. “We can’t actually get married. I read up on it. The Catholic Church seems to feel strongly that marriage is for procreation, and we’re . . . not going to procreate. I can’t.”

“Hold on. Marriage is based on a mutual love and desire for companionship in Christian harmony,” Frank murmured. “ _Not_ fertility. It’s about being able to consummate a marriage, not necessarily producing heirs. As far as I can see we don’t have any other impediments in consanguinity or affinity or perpetual vows. I’m not going to abduct you, we’re both well over legal age and I’m fairly sure that in the miraculous event that we have a child, we’ll bring it up in the faith.”

“Miraculous would be right,” Briar Rose sighed as she curled up against his spine.

“Mind you, when George becomes my step-dog we will have to get him blessed on Saint Francis Day,” Frank teased softly. “I’m old-fashioned about that.”

“May I remind you that I haven’t said yes?” Briar Rose reminded him sleepily.

“Yet.”


	15. Chapter 15

She slept well up until just before dawn. One of the nicer aspects of bedding down with Frank was their ability to actually sleep together; he wasn’t restless once he’d dropped off, and his warmth comforted Briar Rose more than she wanted to admit, especially now when she woke with a jolt, nameless fear spiking through her. 

Aftermath, she knew. The body held off stress only so long, and in sleep the delayed reactions had a way of surfacing through unexpectedly. Briar Rose took a calming breath, glad to feel Frank’s broad back against her own. Slowly she shifted to curl around him, hearing him give a pleased although unconscious murmur in the darkness.

She slid her arm over his waist, settling in again, trying hard not to think of the hospital or the gunshots. Briar Rose snuggled closer, breathing in the scent of warm Frank and her panic faded, replaced by another equally strong response. Her hand slid against his stomach along his undershirt, slipping under the bottom, her palm skimming over the fur trail there just under his navel.

Frank made a low sound deep in his chest and as he did so, Briar Rose felt the muscles under her fingers tense up. She wasn’t sure if she should continue touching him or not, but it had been a few weeks now since they’d done anything more than kiss . . .

As she slid her touch lower under the drawstring of his pajama bottoms, brushing the wiry fur of his groin, Briar Rose felt Frank’s heavy erection _slap_ against the back of her hand and helplessly she giggled, snorting against his shoulder because his response was so . . . strong.

“Are you awake?” she whispered as she caressed the veiny length of him.

“No, but I’m _up_ ,” Frank replied sleepily, his big fingers coming to wrap around hers.

“Mmm, yeaaaah,” Briar Rose agreed, shifting one long leg over his.

“I thought you put the kibosh on canoodling,” Frank mumbled. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I’m more rested now,” she nibbled on his ear, feeling him throb against her palm. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Mmmmm . . . we’ll see about _that_ ,” he rolled towards her, pulling Briar Rose across his chest. It didn’t take long for both of them to lose what sleepwear they had on, or for her to discover between kisses, nibbles and stroking that Frank was definitely a morning man when it came to sex. 

Briar Rose had to smother her yodels of helpless delight against one of the pillows when Frank finally flipped her over and knelt behind her, stretching out along her exposed spine and using his mustache in ways she hadn’t dreamed of. Apparently his staid conservative demeanor went on with the suits, she decided, because here amid the pillows and her discarded lingerie this man didn’t seem to have any limits.

She wriggled, trying to stay quiet. “Oh for the love of my sanity, will you _please_ just . . .”

“Just . . . ?” When she looked over her shoulder he was right there, smirking, short hair awry, a twinkle in his eyes even in the dim light.

“Get to the whoopie making,” she ordered him. “Just nail me to the mattress. Please.”

“Pushy but polite,” Frank murmured, breathing in her ear. “I _like_ that.” He pressed up against her thighs and she parted them, reaching down to guide him. “Well if you insist—"

She was too busy groaning as he rocked forward, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of her bare shoulders, the luscious heft of his prick hitting all of the right places. Briar Rose wriggled, which apparently made him happy judging by the sudden low grunt he gave. 

The two of them found a perfect rhythm, slow and tender. Briar Rose closed her eyes, losing herself in the sultry rise of heat between them, the warm weight of Frank along her back, his low growls of pleasure. A rush of emotions rose along with her desire, and Briar Rose gave herself over to the sensations of lust and love, muffling her joyous moan as the molten sweetness of her climax hit with sugared heat.

Apparently her pleasure ignited his; Frank buried his face in the join of her neck and shoulder, groaning her name against her skin as he came in thick hot pulses deep within her. They lay there afterwards, breathing hard, Briar Rose savoring the blanket of his body on hers.

“I love you,” Frank murmured into her ear. “In _so_ many ways.”

“Not just because we’re naked in your bed?” Briar Rose softly giggled.

“Not just, although it’s factoring heavily in my future attempts to keep you here,” he replied. “Believe me. Alas, I have to go to work.”

“Fine,” Briar Rose sighed teasingly. “At least you’ll have a smile on your face.”

“And that will probably be pretty terrifying to everyone,” Frank agreed, rolling off of her and moving to sit up. “Uhhhh . . .”

“If you wipe your manly junk off with my nightie I’m going to _kill_ you,” she threatened, glaring at him.

“I wasn’t even _thinking_ of it,” he lied, dimples deep as he smirked. “Not at _all_.”

“Liars don’t go to heaven, Francis Xavier.”

“Too late; been there already this morning,” he countered, cheerfully striding in naked glory into the bathroom.

\--oo00oo—

They showered, dressed and made it down to the kitchen just as the sun was coming up. Briar Rose poured the coffee and looked with surprise as Frank made himself a bowl of instant oatmeal.

“No eggs and bacon? Stack of pancakes?”

He made a mournful face, adding banana slices. “The keyword around here is ‘heart-healthy’ which means a lot of the good stuff is now on the ‘once-in-a-while’ list.”

She made a commiserating face. “Poor baby.”

“If you think _I_ grumble about it you should hear Dad,” Frank sighed. “And probably will.”

“Will what?” Henry wandered in, yawning.

“Will be happy to let George out in the back yard,” Frank murmured. “Right?”

“Sure, sure,” Henry murmured. “Save me some java.” He shuffled to the sliding glass door that led to the back yard and George darted out into the snow as Briar Rose watched.

Frank was already looking at his phone, expression serious. “One of the victims in critical passed away this morning,” he murmured. “I’m probably going to be late. Briar Rose—” he looked at her with concern, “I’ll try to get your phone back to you; I’m sure processing for the unaffected floors is probably finished by now. The press may want to talk to you at some point. I would never _tell_ you what to do, but I can strongly suggest you talk to the hospital spokesperson first.”

“Okay,” Briar Rose agreed, handing him a mug of coffee she’d added sugar to. “What about my house?”

“Stay here for now,” Frank urged before taking a sip. “Please. At the moment most of Brooklyn’s going to be tense; I’d rather you weren’t being harassed by reporters or the uglier side of the curious public.”

She considered it, feeling a little anxious as Henry came over to collect his own mug of coffee. “I don’t want to be an imposition—”

“You’re not,” Henry assured her. “And I could use your help if you’re interested. Got some deliveries to make.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Briar Rose admitted.

Henry gave a wry smile. “Toys and presents for some of the families of the fallen,” he murmured. “We get stuff to the moms while the kids are in school.”

Briar Rose nodded and would have said something more but a clatter at the front door drew everyone’s attention and Erin came into the kitchen, sailing over to her, hugging her tightly.

“Oh thank _God_ you’re all right!” she exclaimed, her voice a little shaky. “Dad _said_ you were okay but I wanted to see for myself.” Erin pulled back searching Briar Rose’s face. “You holding up?”

“I’m better,” Briar Rose assured her, touched by the concern. “He was nowhere near Maternity.”

“And that’s a damned good thing,” Erin nodded, looking haunted by the idea. “It’s terrifying to think incidents like this are happening in hospitals.”

“And schools and churches,” Henry growled. “Sometimes I think civilization is going to hell in a handbasket.”

“Not all of it,” Briar Rose protested lightly, looking from Erin to Frank. “There’s a lot of good right here in this kitchen.”

“Amen to that,” Erin agreed. “Listen, I know this is quick and have to get going but I’m glad you’re okay, B-Rose. You had a lot of Reagans _worried_ you know.”

“I’m grateful for the love,” Briar Rose told her with a shy smile, “Believe me.”

\--oo00oo—

Later that afternoon, after helping Henry and a group of volunteers deliver toys to various households in the neighborhood, Briar Rose received a package herself when a young officer brought her a bag of her belongings.

Her cellphone had a sixty-two text messages and the voicemail was full.   
She went through everything, fighting tears at Frank’s notes, touched by Danny, Erin, Eddie and Jamie’s texts, and moved by the ones from various friends and neighbors. Briar Rose spent the better part of two hours sending notes in return, and finally calling Lainie, who answered on the first ring.

“So you got your phone back, good!” her neighbor crowed. “Getting a new one is SUCH a freakin’ pain. You still with Reagan?”

“Yeah,” Briar Rose admitted, curling her feet under her on the sofa. “For the time being.”

“Okay. Talked to him when he picked up the Fur Boy,” Lainie sighed. “I hope I didn’t overstep myself but I laid into him about bein’ good to you and not trying to run your life. Guys like him need reminders now and then.”

“I know,” Briar Rose smiled. “And thanks for having my back. Listen, I have another reason I’m calling. I’ve been expecting some packages—"

“Got ‘em,” Lainie assured her. “Delivery people made three trips and they’re in my garage. Also there’s been a news guy knocking on doors looking for you. I played dumb.”

“Ex-cel-lent,” Briar Rose did her best Mr. Burns imitation. “I may be by to pick them up today or tomorrow since I’m need to pick up the mail and a few more clothes.”

“Don’t get _too_ comfortable over in Bay Ridge,” Lainie warned her. “We want you back in Dyker Heights you know.”

 

The next call was to Lucas, who sounded distracted. “B-Rose! Has Elliot reached you? One of the local stations wants to interview us, along with some of the other survivors. Not sure I _want_ to do it, honestly.”

“Me either,” she admitted. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m . . . okay,” Lucas told her. “My brother and his family are with me right now. They were coming for Christmas anyway and came early. I . . . appreciate the distraction, you know?”

“I do,” Briar Rose replied. “Honestly, I haven’t worked up the courage to watch the news yet.”

“Don’t,” Lucas told her. “Just . . . let it go. I’m happy to let Elliot and the PR folks deal with the media. Not sure when we’re expected back, either, but I think we won’t be returning until after Christmas.”

There was a crash in the background and a low wailing sound; Briar Rose grinned as she heard someone trying to hush a toddler. “Sounds like you’ve got a full house; I should let you go,” she told Lucas. “Take care of yourself, text me, okay?”

“Love you too, B-Rose. Text back,” Lucas urged and hung up.

It was only after she’d cleared everything out of her phone that Briar Rose realized one call was missing. She scrolled through the phone numbers, looking but not finding any incoming message from Sheepshead Bay. She stared at her phone, feeling a renewed heaviness in her chest at that thought. It wasn’t as if her aunt could have _missed_ the story; both Lainie and Lucas had mentioned it being heavily covered by the news.

Twice she started to dial the number but cut the call before she finished. Slowly she wiped her eyes.

“Honey, you okay?” Henry came in with George, and his sharp gaze made her feel foolish.

“Yes. Just . . . there’s a lot of . . .” she gave a helpless shrug.

Henry nodded. “Loose emotion,” he agreed. “Situation like this happens to you and all of a sudden you get hit with some hard truths. You figure out what’s actually important and sometimes it’s _not_ what you thought it was.”

She looked at him. “Does everyone in this family know how brilliant you are?”

He blushed, grinning. “From time to time it dawns on ‘em.”

Briar Rose managed a giggle. “Good. So . . . George here could use a good brushing. Want to help me with that?”

“Bring it on,” Henry replied, reaching out to squeeze her hand.


	16. Chapter 16

She suspected he was deliberately keeping her busy; between running shopping errands; wrapping; helping with the cooking and other chores Briar Rose sensed a somewhat _manipulative_ side to the eldest Reagan. Not that she minded much; Henry was good company, reminding her very much of her own father in a lot of ways, and she told him so as they wrapped presents.

“Dad was quiet but kind,” she mused, passing the tape. “Knew everybody, understood how to get people to listen to him. I used to hang around his office after school, helping out, so that sort of guided me into medicine as a career. Good examples _do_ that I guess.”

“Given how many Reagans are going into law enforcement I can’t argue with that,” Henry replied, smiling. “Although I think that’s more Frank’s influence than mine, per se. Do you have any more of those little tags?”

“Here,” she handed him a pack.

“Almost done,” Henry sighed. “Honestly, this job gets bigger every year, and while I love the end result, _this_ part of it is a chore.”

“So tell me,” Briar Rose wanted to know, “Are you rippers or savers?”

“Rippers all the way,” Henry chuckled. “In the early days my Betty wanted to save the wrappings and I had to put my foot down. Told her, “Honey, I love you to pieces, but if you think we’re gonna save old paper for three hundred and sixty four days just so you can re-use it, think again.” Paper’s cheap enough, and they always have nicer patterns each year. Gotta live it up at Christmas!”

She nodded, standing up and stretching, feeling a familiar sense of restlessness. “I think I’ll take George for a walk.”

Henry looked up at her and nodded. “Sure.”

George sensed her mood and they moved quickly down the street, almost trotting together along the sidewalks. Most of the snow was old, and her breath made puffs in the air. Briar Rose sighed.

“I love him. I really do, so it’s not like that’s the hang-up. And I think _you’re_ pretty happy to have a lot of other people petting you and giving you treats.”

George’s tail flicked at that as he loped along.

“But it’s been a long time since . . . I’ve trusted someone,” Briar Rose mused. “I’m used to relying on myself and this is tough territory, George. This family . . . they’re a _package_ deal. If I marry Frank, I’m really sort of marrying _all_ the Reagans, Lord help me. I’m marrying Henry’s stories, and Sean’s moodiness and Erin’s over-protectiveness and Danny’s grumpiness and Jamie’s insightfulness. I’m getting not only everything I love about Frank, but also everything I’m going to have to meet him halfway about as well,” she sighed.

They reached the corner of Harbor View Terrace and 80th, crossing the street to come back along the other side. Someone with a Labrador came along; the Lab and George exchanged sniffing, tails wagging.

“And yet . . .” Briar Rose continued softly when the other dog-walker passed, “They _care_ about me, which is amazing. They care about _both_ of us, really. Those texts, and all the Sunday dinners . . . it’s _real_ , Fuzzy Boy. We’re a part of it now. The eff word with six letters, looking us right in the face.”

George slowed, circling back towards a fire hydrant, and Briar Rose chuckled. “Sorry, I WAS kind of rushing us. Take your time.”

Which was good advice for herself as well, Briar Rose realized. She let George lead her back to the house, and came in, feeling better.

\--oo00oo—

It started with familiar scenes, but within minutes the dream took a murky turn, and Briar Rose found herself running down hospital hallways with no doors, pursued by invisible monsters, trying to find one of the house phones and seeing only splatters of blood. She woke with a jolt, feeling her heart racing hard, her face wet with tears of fear and frustration. Next to her, Frank stirred.

“Sweetheart . . .” he mumbled, one heavy arm coming across her waist. She clung to it, turning her face to his chest. Throbs of pain radiated around her scars and Briar Rose tried not to cry out. Frank’s arm around her tightened. “Nightmare?”

She made a little sound of agreement, feeling her fear fade a bit. Briar Rose knew it was only a dream and yet the responding pain throbbing through her abdomen had an added edge to it. After a few minutes she pulled away from Frank and rolled to the edge of the bed, sitting up and trying not to wince as she did so.

Briar Rose sat there a moment, trying to decide what to do—there were analgesics in the medicine cabinet of course, but what she _should_ do . . .

She bit her lips in frustration. Two puffs would be all she’d _need_ , Briar Rose suspected. Two quick inhales and the damned pain would be numbed in under ten minutes. She’d actually timed it a few years ago just for curiosity’s sake. Lucas was the one who’d figured out she was hyper-responsive to CBD, in fact.

“Briar Rose?” The nightstand light went on.

Crap. Frank was awake now, and she pushed aside all thoughts of sneaking a smoke. She tried to turn to him but it was too painful, so she looked over her shoulder.

“Just . . . hurting a little,” she mumbled. “I’ll be okay.”

She’d tried too hard; now he was climbing out of bed, pulling on his heavy bathrobe and coming over to her. Briar Rose looked up at him, knowing her smile was crooked even as he stared down at her for a long oddly naked moment, assessing her.

Figuring it out.

Frank sighed, running a hand through his short hair, spiking it up. “Okay,” he rumbled, his expression clearly uncomfortable. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but--let’s do it.”

She felt her chin tremble a little, but with his help Briar Rose got up and fished out the petite wooden box from her overnight bag. She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she carefully pulled out one of the small pre-rolled joints in it and reached for the butane lighter. Her hand wobbled but Frank caught it in his own, steadying her grip as she lit up.

“Those four don’t even come to a full gram,” he commented, his expression an odd mix of concern and resignation.

“I don’t . . .” Briar Rose tried to speak even as she inhaled, “Need much . . .” She closed her eyes, holding in the acrid smoke, focusing on keeping as much of it for as long as she could. It burned in a familiar way and she slowly exhaled, feeling part of her tension go with it.

“Clip?” Frank wanted to know, looking in the box. 

Briar Rose gave him a startled glance but he waved to her joint. “It’s pretty small. You’re going to either burn your fingers or lose half your roach.”

“I’ll be done before then,” she told him and took another deep hit, letting the smoke do its work of untangling the pain. One final drag and as she leisurely exhaled, Briar Rose brought the lighter up and flipped it, grinding the end of the joint against it until it was out before dropping both of them back into the box. “Okay.”

Frank glanced from the box to her face, his expression surprised. “Finished?”

“Yeah,” she gave a deep sigh, fanning her face. “And allllready feelin’ better.” She did, too. Briar Rose wasn’t sure how much of it was conditioning and how much was chemical but either way it did the trick. She drank a glass of water and headed back to bed, Frank behind her.

“So . . . that’s it?”

Briar Rose stretched out. “That’s it. I have sensitivity to Cannabidiol which works on my pain receptors pretty fast. I can sleep now.”

She felt him climb back into bed, and draped herself over him, relaxing as he turned out the light. 

“I thought . . .” he began, and Briar Rose laughed softly.

“You thought I’d be dragging for hours on some massive blunt? That I’d be toking up until my eyes went ruby?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Frank admitted. “I’ve tried to keep up on the laws and legislation; tried to take in what leading experts and medical authorities have to say but . . . this is the first time I’ve seen it used _medically_. Not exactly what I expected.”

“Mmmmm. It’s a prescription, not recreation,” Briar Rose mumbled. “I get my fun in _other_ ways—this is so I can sleep.”

“Noted,” Frank rumbled. “Better?”

“Better,” Briar Rose assured him, and quietly dropped off again. 

\--oo00oo—

She got up first and after a shower went down to make eggs, serving them up just as Frank and Henry came into the kitchen, both of them looking pleased at this largess.

“Okay, we’re _definitely_ keeping you,” Henry told her, accepting a plate of fluffy scrambled with toast. 

“Morning,” Frank gave her a gentle peck, looking at her carefully. “Feeling . . . all right?”

“Good,” she assured him, trying not to grin. “Even have an appetite.”

“Not surprised,” Frank murmured, accepting a plate. “Thank you.”

“So it’s the final countdown,” Henry reminded them as they settled in at the kitchen table. “We’re all meeting up here for Christmas Eve dinner and then driving over the St. Andrew’s for Midnight Mass which has been moved back to eleven, the wusses. Erin’s dropping off some dishes early so we can expect people by ten tomorrow.”

“Is Jack in?”

“Got in last night,” Henry told Frank, and looked at Briar Rose. “Danny’s eldest. He’s looking forward to meeting you; you’ll like him.”

Briar Rose nodded, buttering her toast. “I have some of my own errands today, and I need to take Fuzzy Boy to the groomers.”

Frank waited until Henry stepped outside to reload the bird feeders to speak up again. “So . . . you’re genuinely all right?”

“I am. Probably won’t need to do anything like that again for another few months,” Briar Rose told him, “I hope.”

He gave her a tenderly assessing look. “You know publicly I can’t come out in full support of it. And personally it _still_ goes against my principals on the theoretical level, right?”

Briar Rose nodded. “I understand, sweetheart. I disagree with you of course, and I think a lot more research is needed but as long as you know I’m going to do what I need to do _when_ I need to do it, I’m fine with that.”

He took a moment to digest her words. “Okay,” Frank agreed. “State law is on your side, and I don’t think the feds are planning on raiding the house at any point soon, especially for the minuscule amount you’ve got. Just . . . no black light posters or lava lamps in the bedroom okay?”

Briar Rose nearly snorted a nose-full of coffee at that.

\--oo00oo—

Picking up the mail was interesting—the usual Christmas cards and bills, along with far too many catalogs and flyers. Briar Rose found no fewer than three notes from various reporters and threw them all away. She stepped into the house feeling a curious sense of homesickness and unfamiliarity. 

Her things, and yet the house felt more than empty now. It was a little unnerving but at the same time . . . She moved from room to room taking a breath.

“You’re a good home,” she murmured aloud, feeling silly for saying so, and yet it was true. Briar Rose took a breath and got to work. She packed clothing, cleared out expired food in the refrigerator and finally went to her bedroom. She scooped up the photo of her parents from her dresser and sighed.

“He’s asked me to marry him,” she told the images behind the glass. “And I want to say yes, I really do. We’re not perfect, of course,” Briar Rose gently stroked the frame. “We have things we still need to work on, and nobody knows how the future’s going to unfold. But,” she added, “Frank’s a part of me now. Just like you two were parts of each other, with room to grow. I want that. I want it with him.”


	17. Chapter 17

St. Andrew the Apostle was gorgeously done up for the season and Briar Rose was comfortable with the service, which was nearly identical to the one at St. Philips. She sat in the pew next to Frank, feeling the gaze of curious fellow worshipers on them, trying to blend in and relax. Knowing all the hymns helped, as did the support of all the Reagans around her. 

By the time the service was over, she was working hard not to yawn as Frank introduced her to the priest and a few other folks. She leaned over to Erin, asking, “So, any female parishioners giving me the evil eye?”

Erin grinned. “Mrs. O’Malley always flirts with Dad, but she’s nearly ninety; I think you could take her.”

“I dunno,” Eddie added, “Those two Altar Guild ladies—the ones who save Frank a couple of doughnuts after service? I think _they’re_ annoyed.”

“Sylvia and Rose? Pffft,” Erin snorted. “Get Sean and Jack to flatter ‘em and they’ll get over it.”

Everyone said their goodbyes in the parking lot, and Briar Rose climbed into the car with Henry behind her, feeling as if she’d successfully run a marathon.

“Good service,” Henry sighed. “I’m glad they had both choirs tonight, but I’m beat.”

“I think all of us are,” Frank agreed, “and we’ve got a full day tomorrow so we’ll need the sleep.”

George was happy to see them and followed Briar Rose and Frank as they locked up the house. She loved the lights shining along the snow-crusted windows against the darkness.

“Frank, how many floors does this house have?”

“Four,” he told her as he programmed the coffeepot. “Why?”

“Just curious. How can it have four?”

“Basement, first floor, second floor and dormer attic,” Frank pointed out. “Five bedrooms, including dad’s here on the ground floor, and more than enough space for . . . another home office, or storing someone’s furniture, say.”

“You’ve thought this _through_ ,” Briar Rose realized, nearly overwhelmed by the sweetness of it.

“Yep,” Frank admitted. “I . . . plan things out, but you know that. This world is full of unexpected turns and changes, so I do my best to keep life on an even keel by . . . looking ahead I guess.”

She slipped her arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly for a moment. “And all of us are lucky that you do. Let’s get some sleep because tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

“It’s going to be a _long_ day,” Frank predicted, smiling over his shoulder. “I’ve got some packages to move; I’ll be up in a while.”

Briar Rose tried to wait up, but drifted off, cozy and warm well before he made it to bed.

\--oo00oo—

She woke hours later to the sensual tease of a big hand cupping one breast and the scratch of a mustache against her shoulder. “Morrrrning.”

“ _Someone’s_ in the mood for reindeer games,” Briar Rose murmured sleepily, grinding back against Frank, who gave a return groan of pleasure.

“As long as you don’t make me wear antlers . . .”

Fortunately it ended up a game with two winners, and by the mutually satisfactory end, Briar Rose took pride in seeing her beloved sprawled out next to her in post-coital bliss, his smug expression endearing. “I had no idea you were so hormonally driven,” she told him.

“I’m not,” Frank protested. “My sex life was fairly staid until Mary died and then I just sort of . . . set it all aside. Then you came along and . . .”

“But I never did anything _sexy_ around you!” Briar Rose protested. “We shopped at the farmer’s market! We peeled _potatoes_ for heaven’s sake!”

“You wore _perfume_ ,” Frank accused. “And cute little sweaters, and then when you did that run out at Owl’s Head Park I saw you in shorts for the first time, that’s when . . .”

She remembered. “You had the dream.”

“I never should have _told_ you about that,” Frank grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and Briar Rose burst out laughing.

 

Downstairs Henry and George were in the kitchen and when Briar Rose looked in the living room she gave a gasp. “Oh good Lord!” Colorful packages were piled around the tree in great mounds, spilling out almost to the sofa and coffee table. From the stereo, Bing Crosby was warbling about a White Christmas which was in fact happening out beyond the windows.

“Merry Christmas!” Henry called to her. “Kind of a small haul this year.”

“Small?” Briar Rose blinked, looking back to Henry and Frank, who kept matching straight faces.

“I guess some of us haven’t been very good this year,” Frank murmured, sipping his coffee. “Santa’s always watching.”

“ _Somebody_ was good,” Henry pointed out. “We’ll have to find out who when we start passing them out.”

The other Reagans began to arrive and George made it a point to greet them all, tail wagging enthusiastically. He’d taken to stretching out under the coffee table now, comfortable in his surroundings, and was able to navigate around the growing crowd with ease. Briar Rose watched him with a sense of love, glad that he was enjoying the attention.

Of course each person brought more packages and added to the piles before they made their way to the kitchen for a buffet style service, carrying their plates to the table, chatting, asking questions, and generally being a noisy happy family. Grace was quick but sincere, and they ate.

“The sausage is for _you_ , not the dog,” Frank chided Sean, who didn’t look particularly embarrassed at being caught slipping a link under the table.

“It’s Christmas for him too.”

“He really shouldn’t get too much people food,” Briar Rose told Sean. “Borzois are prone to a condition called bloat, which could end up killing him. He’ll get plenty to chew on today I promise you.”

More conversation, more food, and finally when the dishes were carried to the kitchen it was time for the gifts. Nervously Briar Rose wandered into the living room where Danny had dragged a chair over so she could sit next to Frank. “Here,” he told her with a quick grin. “ _This_ . . . could take a while.”

And it did. Briar Rose discovered they went in rounds, with all the gifts from one person distributed so that everyone got their gift from Henry at the same time, and then Danny, and so on. Pretty soon the space around her chair was filled with sweaters, fancy lotions, and gift cards.

She eyed the gifts she’d brought, all in the same green metallic foil over on the far side of the room, worried about how they’d be received. At the time her great idea had seemed the right thing but now . . .

“Who’s next?” Jack asked, breaking into her thoughts. Briar Rose took a breath.

“Ah, _I’d_ like to go, if that’s all right?”

The nods of agreement and smiles made it clear that was fine, so she rose and gathered the green gifts, handing them out carefully. When everyone had one, she spoke up. “I gave some thought about what to give each of you because I haven’t known you all long but I’ve gotten _very_ fond of this family. So I figured I’d give you a few things of my own to kind of . . . kind of share who I am. They’re not new, but they’re what I thought would be right for each of you. Um, Erin, you go first.”

Erin opened the long box and something slid out: a thick folded quilt. She gave a pleased murmur and held it up so everyone could see the beautiful star pattern in blue and gold on it. Then she paused. “Oh wow! Wait--you _made_ this?”

“Yep. My granny and I did, about forty years ago, when I was taking Home Ec,” Briar Rose admitted. “One of the first good quilts I did. I thought you’d like something warm.”

Erin rose up, crossed the room and hugged her tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, blinking hard. “It’s beautiful. Thank you!”

As she settled back on the sofa with her quilt, stroking it, Briar Rose looked at Danny. “Go ahead.”

Danny eyed the long box in his hands, and then gave her a knowing glance. He carefully undid one end and reached in, pulling out the cloth-wrapped shotgun by the butt end. “Oh Jeez . . . B-Rose, this is too much!” he protested even has his hands reverently unwrapped the gun and slid lovingly over the polished stock and the engraved plating.

“Granny’s Greener,” Briar Rose murmured. “It’s unloaded of course and I have the ammo for you. She bought it in nineteen twelve, and I _know_ you’ll take good care of it, Danny.”

He blinked, and for the first time Briar Rose saw something soft and earnest in his face; a flicker of Mary there. He came over and hugged her as well, eyes bright. “I will. Promise.”

Briar Rose shot a glance at Frank, who was looking at her in shades of awe, rubbing his mustache. She turned to Nicky, and waved a hand. “Okay this one may or may not fly . . .”

The full-length dress was dark red velvet with a white and green lace-up front and mutton chop sleeves. Nicky held it up, staring at it. Erin leaned over to check the tag on the back. “It’s a genuine Gunne Sax!”

“Those were big in the Seventies,” Briar Rose murmured. “Country dresses by a designer named Jessica McClintock. I had three, but I thought _this_ one would look great on you. If you don’t like it I can--”

“I _love love love_ it!” Nicky squeaked, still staring. “Ohhhh it’s wow! I’m gonna go try it on, okay?” she darted over to Briar Rose, hugged her and slipped out of the living room.

“Three for three,” Henry grinned. “Nice!”

“You’re next,” Briar Rose smiled, waving at the cloth-covered basket at his feet. Henry picked it up and everyone heard the clink of glass. He pulled away the cloth to reveal two bottles, one dark and the other of porcelain. Henry stared across the room at Briar Rose, who grinned.

“Wine?”

“Well one of them is. The blackberry wine from Stu Hatcher’s last summer batch,” Briar Rose replied. “He usually does dandelion too but this was all he had left.”

“And the other?” Henry picked up the porcelain bottle, which had a thick cork.

Briar Rose said nothing, eyes twinkling.

Frank cleared his throat. “Dad, I don’t think you should—" was as far as he got. Henry pulled the cork and took a tiny sip. He gasped, face going red, grin wide.

“Oh sweetheart you really ARE from back-hill country!” he managed, laughing. “Good lord, moonshine!”

“You didn’t _hear_ that,” Frank announced to the room, making his adult children snicker.

“What happens at Christmas stays at Christmas,” Eddie assured him, grinning. 

Nicky returned and spun around showing off her dress to oohs and aahs. “Check it _out_! Oh man, I love this! _Thank_ you, B-Rose!”

Briar Rose grinned and pointed at Sean. “Your turn.”  
The fancy oak handle pocketknife went over well, as did Jack’s mother of pearl Montblanc pen (“My father believed in quality when it came to his tools,” Briar Rose told them) and then it was Eddie’s turn.

The two red carved Bakelite bangles gleamed in the tree lights. “Those belonged my Granny Clowderbock. She ran away to New York to be a flapper. Came home six years later with a typing certificate, a lot of interesting stories and more jewelry than any _secretary_ should have had,” Briar Rose admitted. “She was a blonde, like you. She was smart, like you. She knew her onions, like you.”

Eddie slipped them on and admired them, biting her lip. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll try and do right by them for Granny Clowderbock.”

Jamie stared at the package in his hands, opening it when Briar Rose nodded at him. The small leather-bound book was palm-sized and gilt-edged. He opened it and glanced up again.

“My mother’s book of Psalms,” Briar Rose told him. “Out of the whole Bible she loved those the best, and had a lot of them memorized. I thought you might find some comfort and inspiration from them.”

Jamie cleared his throat. “I’ll treasure it,” he told Briar Rose quietly, emotion thick in his voice, his hand stroking the cover.

Finally she turned to Frank, gazing at him and working hard not to let her emotions get the best of her. “All right sweetheart, your turn.”

He looked down, as if surprised by the little gift in his lap, and his big fingers had trouble with the paper at first. When he uncovered the box, Frank opened it and withdrew a gold chain and an ornate pocket watch dangling on the end of it, catching the light.

“My father had a Timex, but my grandfather had _this_ ,” Briar Rose told him. “Wore to clipped to his vest every day of his life, wound it every night. Said it was the most reliable timekeeper outside of his own heart.”

Frank caught the watch in one palm and studied it. “Beautiful workmanship,” he murmured.

Briar Rose pointed with her chin, well-aware of everyone looking at them. “There’s a compartment on the back. Not every watch has one, but this one does.”

He glanced up then, gaze sharp and tender at the same time, and for a moment Briar Rose knew he wasn’t seeing anyone but her. Frank flipped the watch over, worked a fingernail on the tiny notch and a second later, the flap on back of the watch popped open.

The note was there, the three letters big and bold.

Frank looked up and set the watch aside, rising from his chair, reaching for Briar Rose, pulling her to him and cupping her face as he kissed her.

Briar Rose kissed him back aware of the astonished exclamations going on behind them, of surprise and joy and amusement.

When they finally broke apart, Frank looked out over his family, striving for his usual calm demeanor.

“She said yes,” he told them simply.

Immediate _insanity_ broke out with everyone trying to hug her; George barking so he wouldn’t be left out, and Briar Rose found herself caught up in the whirl of emotion. One strong hand on her back kept her steady, and when everyone finally, _finally_ managed to settle down again, Frank turned to look at her. 

“I got _you_ . . . a placeholder,” he admitted, handing her a little silver box.

Briar Rose found the catch and flicked it open; a silver band with little baguette stones of citrine, emerald and imperial topaz embedded around it lay on the satin pillow. 

“It’s . . .”

“. . . succotash,” Frank finished, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilog next. Thank you for all the feedback!


	18. Chapter 18

**Epilog**

She was _so_ ready to go home. The heels weren’t bad this time, especially given the way Frank continually checked out her legs throughout the evening, but Briar Rose was tired of making small talk with people she barely knew here at the Philharmonic Charity Gala and silent auction. No, what she really wanted was to go home and take a long soak in the tub.

Possibly with company.

With these thoughts in mind, Briar Rose picked up her sparkly clutch and gave Frank a meaningful look; he gave a nod of agreement and they both began to make polite excuses, slipping out of the crowded ballroom together a few minutes later, arm in arm. 

The clusters of people around the bank of elevators blocked most of them, and Briar Rose’s lips twitched when Frank gently steered her towards the far end where fewer people were standing around talking. Just around the corner of the alcove she caught sight of the supplemental elevator door and her fingers tightened on Frank’s arm.

He shot her a sidelong glance, dimples flashing. “I think this is our car,” he murmured.

Briar Rose returned the glance through her lashes. “Going down?”

“I have every intention,” Frank replied just the tiniest tinge of salaciousness to his tone even though his expression stayed impassive.

She knew him so well now, and Briar Rose felt a sense of desire and love deep within her, simmering at his words. “So we’re returning to the scene of the crime?”

“Well the crime was at the bottom,” Frank pointed out. “No, I’m more interested in the _trip_. The original one was . . . ripe with opportunity neither of us seized at the time. I intend to rectify that, Doctor Clowderbock-Reagan.”

The soft chime announced the arrival of the car; Briar Rose followed him in, noting that the Art Deco carpet was exactly the same one from a year earlier but this time instead of pushing the button for the parking garage, Frank pressed the fiftieth floor one.

Briar Rose barely had time to giggle before her husband pulled her into his arms.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! I really loved writing this pairing and have a few ideas for follow-up stories if anyone's willing to read them. Thanks for the support, guys!


End file.
